
Class 
Book. 



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Gopiglitl]^. 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 




W. E. H. GRAMP 






THE JOURNAL 

OF 
A GRANDFATHER 



r b '^ 



Copyright 1912 

By W. E. HUGHES 

Saint Louis, Mo. 



riNG CO., ST. LOUIS 



TO 
MY GBiANDDAUGHTER 

Who all her life has been my chum and my 
companion, and with me, " Ever with a frolic- 
welcome took the thunder and the sunshine." 

BY 

W. E. H. GRAMP 



PRIVATELY PRINTED 



CONTENTS 



Chapter 
I. 


W^hylWrite ----- 


Paec 

7 


11. 


Family Environment and Education 


11 


III. 


I Leave Home - - _ _ _ 


31 


IV. 


I Go With the Sheep - _ _ - 


39 


V. 


To the Southern Army - - - 


65 


VI. 


In the Army - _ _ - _ 


79 


VII. 


From 1865 to 1895 - - - - 


135 


VIII. 


Coaching in Cowboy Land _ _ - 


143 


IX. 


Winter On a Ranch _ - - - 


171 


X. 


An Indian Episode _ _ _ - 


189 


XI. 


A Forest Ride ----- 


201 


XII. 


Riding and Shooting in Scotland 


211 


XIII. 


Kickem's Run With the Denver Hounds 


219 


XIV. 


The Biographers ----- 


227 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
W. E. H. Gramp ... - Frontispiece 

FaciDE Paie / 

Kickem, in Her Lisping Infancy - - - - 10 

The Granddaughter was then Young and Fair - 14 

Bammy, the Wheel-horse in Our Conjugal Team 138 

An Only Child and Grandchild - - - - 141 

For a Park Drive from the City Home - - 145 

A Midday Lunch by the Wayside - - - 155 

Cottonwood Ranch ■'■'^ 

Gramp, Tom Draw, and the Other Dogs - - 177 

Thomas Jefferson Goes With Us - - - 182 

Satanta, Kiowa Chief 1^4 

The Dignity of Her Senior Year - - - 201 

Her Free Swing and Follow Through - - - 202 

She Handles Well a Four Upon Occasion - 216 

General and the Girl Flying Over - - * 225 



CHAPTER ONE 

WHY I ^VRITE 

I HAVE just been reading from the Journal of 
a Recluse that Benvenuto Cellini, a somewhat 
famous Italian, opens his biography by saying 
that "all men, no matter their condition, if they 
have done anything worth while, ought with their 
own hand to write a description of their life, but 
ought not to commence doing so until they have 
passed the age of forty." This journalist who so 
quotes from Cellini, adds: "And I? Have I done 
anything worth while?" 

I shall not ask myself that question. I am long 
past my fortieth mile-post. If I have done nothing 
worth while by this time I am not likely to, so, as I 
have a chit of a girl to come after me who has en- 
joyed with me some of the scenes I wish to write of, 
I shall write. 

Age is garrulous. I have reached my three score 
years and ten ; so, as my early ambitions are all about 
gratified or given up, and as I have never talked much 
of my life, I think I will rather enjoy writing about 



Page Eight 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

it, thus, as it were, living over again scenes well-nigh 

forgotten, letting — 

"Eeminiscent thoughts create 
Landscape and incident before me." 

Furthermore, it may be that when I am dust and 
ashes some part of what I write here, may recall my 
love and devotion to those that come after me, and 
my solicitude for their welfare. 

I shall be able, too, to write family history, hap- 
penings, and experiences that must otherwise remain 
unknown to them. For is not — 

"All experience an arch wherethr'o 
Gleams that untravell'd World whose margui fades 
Forever and forever when we move." 

Besides, have not I, too, 

' 'Seen and known 
Cities of men and manners, climates, 
Councils, governments; and drunk delight 
Of battle with my peers." 

Again, this journal is to a granddaughter, and 
whatever I may write will, I know, be worth while 
to her. For I "have lived, thought, felt keenly," and, 
as someone has said, "Isn't that the essence of liter- 
ature?" 

I lay no claim to literary excellence ; for, "What we 
are, we are." If in writing this, too, I attempt to go 
beyond family history, and my own life events, I may 
write of outdoor life and scenes that have done so 
much to lighten and brighten my life. I shall browse, 
too, from all fields ; pick and quote, often with imper- 



Page Nine 

WHY I WRITE 

feet memory, from all authors that come to me, who 
have said somewhere and sometime, better than I can, 
the ♦^hings I want to say here. 

I may not, too, always write from libraries where 
there are books; but from ranches, or from camps 
and cabins in the forests and by the streams — some- 
times even upon a saddle-blanket under a tree where 
the woods are thickest; or on the mountain side where 
the views are finest, 

I am a poor walker, but a good rider; and these 
days I greatly love to ride a favorite horse through 
the hills and valleys among the cattle, getting down 
frequently to rest the old horse and myself. It is an 
easy matter to carry a notebook and pencil in one 
saddle-pocket and a biscuit in the other, and to dis- 
mount, unsaddle, spread the saddle-blanket and write, 
if in writing mood. I always divide the biscuit with 
the old horse, so he never leaves me. After the bis- 
cuit, while the horse browses for grass, I may some- 
times browse for ideas — my own or some one else's 
— I am just as apt to get some one else's as my own, 
and I do not mind if I do. The result may be a mix- 
ture — a kind of mosaic, as it were — *'my blend" as 
my liquor dealer sometimes says in his printed label 
on the bottles he sends me. 

The granddaughter, our only child now, for whom 
I write this journal, as she was none too robust in 
her infancy, I have kept with me, having her lead an 
outdoor life as much as possible, and that she may 
have something to interest and keep her there, I have 



Page Ten 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

encouraged her in her natural taste for all wholesome 
outdoor sports. I call our granddaughter Kickem, 
and should any one ask how she acquired her unclas- 
sical name, I would answer, her rightful name is 
Clifton, this, in her first lisping infancy, from her in- 
ability to pronounce her given name, she synonymed 
Kickem. 

Kickem, from the first, seemed to take advantage 
of our kinship, and at times to be most irreverent, 
early calling me Gramp, and her grandmother 
Bammy. Bammy is right enough for a white-haired, 
sweet-faced, middle-aged woman, but Gramp ! Who 
ever heard of a Gramp? It sounds doubtless most 
disrespectful, but somehow, I never thought it so. So, 
Gramp it is, and as Gramp I shall write this journal, 
satisfying if I can, as Cellini says we must, that nat- 
ural curiosity as to my credibility and as to my 
family. 




Kickem, in Her Lisping Infancy 



CHAPTER TWO 

FAMILY ENVIRONMENT AND 
EDUCATION 

MY father was a Virginian, of Scotch-Irish 
descent. As John Fiske says: "The 
Scotch-Irish were the pioneers of the 
American backwoods. They were picked 
men and women of the most excellent sort. They were 
intelhgent yeomanry and artisans. And the people 
to whom the term applied are for the most part Low- 
land Scotch Presbyterians, very slightly Hibernicized 
in blood. The policy of the Government was to in- 
terpose them as a buffer between the expanding col- 
ony and the Indian frontier. They spread rapidly 
and in large numbers toward the southwest along the 
mountain country through the Shenandoah Valley and 
into the Carolinas. At a later time they formed al- 
most the entire population of West Virginia, and 
they were the men who chiefly built up the common- 
wealths of Kentucky and Tennessee. When our Civil 
War came these men were a great power on both 
sides." 



Page Twelve 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

It was from this stock my father came. His delight 
was in his farm, his horses and his cattle. He always 
owned and farmed his own land, and he was always 
happy when working upon the one and with the 
other. There was not a lazy bone in his body. Day- 
light never found him in bed, and through all the 
winter season the family always breakfasted by candle- 
light. He was a devout churchman, and for all the 
time I knew him, an Elder in the Presbyterian 
Church. His religion he took upon faith with never 
a doubt. He was honest, industrious and straight- 
forward in all his dealings; and he enjoyed the con- 
fidence of all who knew him. He was a most use- 
ful member of his church, and in his later days — 
after he had retired from the active labors of the 
farm he gave most of his time to it, and to helping 
as he could those needing his services. 

My mother was in every way a grand woman. 
Every mother is that to her son, or ought to be. It 
is true she died when I was but eight years old, but 
my aunts — her older sisters — I grew up to know 
well; they were of the grand type. After her death, 
they always spoke of my mother in the highest terms 
as the youngest and most capable member of the 
family. 

I remember my mother best at her loom; a large, 
heavy oak affair, reaching almost to the ceiling; where 
she was accustomed to sit with her back to the wall 
upon the rude wooden bench attached to and facing 
the loom, weaving the woolen homespun for the fam- 



Page Thirteen 

FAMILY ENVIRONMENT AND EDUCATION 

ily. She always sat facing my sistere ; who with their 
spinning wheels against the opposite wall, were in 
the same room (with their backs to my mother) 
spinning at their wheels. 

These old-fashioned hand spinning wheels were 
tall, light affairs, each with an oak bottom frame 
set up on wooden pegs for legs, each supporting a 
single light open wooden wheel, larger in diameter 
but not unlike the hind wheel of a carriage, except 
that the rim or tire was of wood grooved to carry 
a round string band connecting with and turning a 
spmdle. The spinners would, with a quick forward or 
back step, as the case might be, give the wheel a quick 
whirl with a wooden spinning peg held in the hand, 
attach the filmy woolen roll to the whirling spindle 
and continue to trip lightly back and forth, rolling 
the twisted thread upon the spool held by the spindle 
until it was twisted to the proper size and consis- 
tency; then take another roll from the frame, give 
the wheel another whirl, attach the end to the open 
untwisted end of the former roll ; and so on until the 
spool was filled. The spinning had to be done stand- 
ing and it required light hands, quick steps and light 
feet to do it well. When done by a lithesome girl, 
or sprightly woman, it was a most picturesque and 
graceful performance, oftentimes as imposing al- 
most and as stately as a minuet; especially when ac- 
companied as it often was with quick whirling steps 
and sweet maiden voices at intervals breaking into 
song in time with the steps. 



Page Fourteen 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

How I remember that large cheery work room; 
the big loom always going with its rythmic beat, beat, 
beat; and the wheels spinning and humming — not 
seldom — with joyous maiden laughter and song. I 
have witnessed in my life many pleasant work scenes 
— but none quite like this. 

My mother was a Kentuckian and of Scotch de- 
scent. Her maiden name was Rutherford, and her 
branch of the family, as I have always been told, was 
from Jedburg in Scotland, near the English border, 
in Sir Walter Scott's country, whose mother, as is 
well known, was herself a Rutherford. 

When I visited that section a few years ago in 
company with the granddaughter, Dr. Rutherford — 
a member of the family — who happened to be the 
family physician where we were visiting — in response 
to my inquiry as to the family said — "The Ruther- 
fords were among the largest of the Scotch Highland 
Clans, and during the Border Wars took from the 
English as many cattle as the best of them and to 
use his quaint Scotch dialect — "Keep't them, too." 

As the granddaughter was then young and fair, 
and rode straight and well, they took us in at once; 
had us at their homes and were very kind; and when 
we came to leave for America, the granddaughter 
was given an immense blue book, stamped in large 
gilt letters on the cover— THE RUTHERFORDS 
OF THAT ELK. And upon the first blank fly leaf 
inside, there was inscribed, "Given to her for she 



.?v»- 




The Granddaughter was then Young and Fair 



Page Fifteen 

FAMILY ENVIRONMENT AND EDUCATION 

herself is a Rutherford in right of her grandmother, 
Ehza Ann Rutherford; to be kept as an archive in 
the family. Given her on her fifteenth birthday, right 
in the very heart and center of this border land, 
whose history these Rutherfords helped so much to 
make. A land richer in Romance, Song and Story, — 
thanks to Sir Walter Scott, himself a Rutherford — 
than any land in all the World. Sunlav7S — Scot- 
land, Dec. 22d." 

The granddaughter and I were at this time spend- 
ing the holidays and part of the hunting season at 
Sunlaws, a beautiful country place, fifty miles from 
Edinburgh, where we spent many happy, never to 
be forgotten days. Although I have studied the big, 
blue book some, I must confess I have never been 
quite able to satisfy myself as to which particular 
branch of the family — there are so many — I be- 
long. I think though there must be a strain of the 
Scotch Rutherfords in my blood; for I liked in the 
days I was there to gallop over the border; and I to 
this day like cattle, and I like to keep them as my 
own. 

I like Scotland and the Scotch, and elsewhere in 
this Journal, I may have more to write of both. 

Among the sturdy men and women of good stock 
that came from the South and East to Central Illi- 
nois, in the first quarter of the Nineteenth Century, 
were my father and mother; and the mystic voices 
that are ever calling the young and the energetic from 



Page Sixteen 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

the old lands to the new were irresistible to them, 
and with the others they came eagerly to the con- 
quest of the Western forests and prairies; and they 
brought with them good moral characters and a 
willingness to work. No wonder that in a short 
time they made the virgin plains blossom as the rose, 
and Illinois one of the first States in the American 
Union. 

My father was not what would be called an edu- 
cated man in the language of the Schools. The rudi- 
ments, Reading, Writing, Arithmetic and Grammar, 
he knew well enough for all practical purposes. He 
always regretted that he had not what is called a 
liberal education; and he always said, that as he 
would have little else to give his children, he meant 
to give them an education ; and he made every effort 
to do so. With my sisters, he succeeded well, as all 
of them, three in number, — after the Common and 
High Schools — took an Academic Course, and all 
taught afterwards. 

As for me, alas ! I, his only son, was the disappoint- 
ment of his early and middle life — I could never 
get beyond my Sophomore year in College. Until I 
was eight years of age, my education proceeded well 
enough. I began, when I was about four years old, 
to attend with my sisters a Country School, kept in 
a little frame country school house of one room, dis- 
tant not over a half mile from the modest brick and 
wooden farm house where we lived. 

The teacher, although eccentric as I think now, 



Page Seventeen 

FAMILY ENVIRONMENT AND EDUCATION 

was a man of force, in love with his work, and from 
the start he interested and impressed me. 

In the four years I was there, I got about all the 
school-book education that ever really counted with 
me. Beginning with my letters, I there in the four 
years learned to read, write and spell, studying geog- 
raphy and practically finishing arithmetic. I there 
learned the multiplication table so I never forgot it, 
and when I quit this school, I really believe I could 
work any sum in Smith's or Ray's Arithmetic; as for 
spelling, too, I was among the best spellers in the 
school, although there were several practically grown 
up men and women there. How I remember the 
public Spelling Matches, we had in this country school 
house, the last Friday night in every month ! 

These Spelling Matches were great events. How 
eagerly I looked forward to them ! Being, as I said, 
among the good spellers, I though a youngster was 
early chosen, to my great gratification I remember, 
and entered each match expecting to stay up to the 
last, but I never did. 

At the end of each School Year, we had an Exhibi- 
tion — Compositions and Declamations. I was al- 
ways among the declaimers; and as I see it now, I was 
regarded by the teacher as one of his best cards. The 
teacher himself always appeared in at least one dec- 
lamation, which he learned from the book like the 
rest of us. 

For these exhibition occasions, my mother always 
dressed me in my best, of course, and made me wear 



Page Eighteen 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

shoes. Dressed up, and excited as I was at these 
exhibitions, I felt large — if I did not look it — and 
in my shrill childish voice, I spouted in great shape. 

I remember the teacher and I would often open 
the exercises with a dialogue. We had one in par- 
ticular, that we used on any and all occasions; in 
which I would lead off with — "How big was Alex- 
ander, Pa?" etc., etc. To write of this now seems, 
I know, very ridiculous, but at the time, it stimulated 
and excited me about as much as ever did a Cavalry 
Charge, something I may write of later. This excit- 
ing system, and the way I was brought forward by 
my first teacher, would have been bad no doubt for 
the average boy — but, it never hurt me. 

The next twelve years — from my eighth to my 
twentieth — were so disappointing to me, my father, 
and my family, that all my early egotism was I think 
quite taken out of me. At the end of these years, I 
was a wild and worthless young man; fit for nothing 
but to run away and join the Army; a thing I did 
later, thereby almost, if not quite, breaking my old 
father's heart. The only consolation came in later 
years, when my father made me a visit in the South- 
ern home I had made for myself, and to his surprise 
no doubt; and to his evident gratification, found me 
an apparently prosperous, respected, and — if I may 
say it — a fairly educated and even an honored citizen. 
For education, after all, is not wholly of the Schools. 
It was the Army, and the three years I served in it as 
a private, that brought me to my senses. 



Page Nineteen 

FAMILY ENVIRONMENT AND EDUCATION 

In 1848, my father removed from his farm to the 
County town, a city so-called then, of from six to 
eight thousand inhabitants. This, from a financial 
point, was a mistake; and my father, for all the 
time he was in business in the city, lost money and 
was like a fish out of water. He invested a portion 
of the proceeds of the farm in a pretty, comfortable, 
modest home, on one of the principal streets, and 
adjoining the Presbyterian Female Academy. Here 
I passed the worst twelve years of my life — not be- 
cause of the surroundings — they were as moral and 
wholesome as could be. It was the general worth- 
lessness and cussedness, that sometimes takes hold of 
a boy from no apparent cause and holds on to him, 
that at this time possessed and about ruined me. 

After buying the home, my father bought, with 
the remaining proceeds of the farm, a combined 
book and music store. After trying this for two or 
three unprofitable years; he in partnership with an 
Englishman, who was a baker and candy-maker, put 
up a bakery and a confectionery establishment. This 
failing to pay, and not being to his taste, my father 
disposed of his interest to his partner, and bought 
another small farm close to town; and still later a 
large flouring mill, the only one in the city at that 
time. 

The mill like the other mercantile ventures, proved 
a failure. During these years, I alternated between 
the high school, the store, the mill, and the farm — ■ 
school books and school teachers had ceased to inter- 



Page Twenty 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

est me — whispering voices, "The Call of the Wild," 
were luring me to the woods, and by the streams — 
I would take "days oft" without leave. When the 
taking was discovered there would be trouble for me, 
at school and at home. 

At such times I would be taken from school for a 
time, and put to work. Rather menial work, I 
thought. I rebelled, but not openly. When sent 
back to school, I would do better, but only for a time. 
Finally, though poorly prepared, I entered the fresh- 
man class in one of the oldest Colleges in the State. 
At the end of the year I failed to pass my examina- 
tions, and had to take the year over. The next year, 
I barely passed. At the end of the Sophomore Year, 
fearing I would again fail, I left the College, and 
my school days were over. So ended, to my father's 
grief and disappointment, more than my own, his 
hopes of my education. He little thought that some 
day that same College would tender me its M. A. 
Degree. 

I have long since learned that an education, after 
all, comes not wholly from the Schools. The smat- 
tering of Latin, Greek, French, Philosophy, the high- 
er mathematics, etc., etc., all jumbled and crowded 
and forced down together, as I received it, does lit- 
tle to educate. The education that is valuable in prac- 
tical life is one which gives a thorough grounding in 
the rudiments. This, with the self-culture that comes 
from reading the best books — is what counts. If 
after the Elementaries one is able to get hold of, and 



Page Twenty-One 

FAMILY ENVIRONMENT AND EDUCATION 

to read and re-read the best books to give the right 
start and form early a correct taste, he, if really hun- 
gry for an education will get one. The originals — 
the really good books — are few. In these days of 
Public Libraries and good and cheap editions none 
are too poor to get the best and to have and to keep 
them as their own. He who best knows what to do, 
and how to do it, is the best educated. 

I could really have easily taken the College Course, 
as the others did, but the truth is I was full of life — 
boy life — and the allurements of the College Green 
and the College Grove were irresistible. I excelled 
in almost all of the college games. I was the kind of 
a boy that liked play, and that never got enough of 
it at home. 

My father believed in work for boys. No bad 
thing for them I admit; and he always laid out 
enough of it for me to occupy about all of my 
hours out of school. I had to be up by daylight 
winter and summer. Morning and night before 
and after school, it was my work to cut the wood, 
milk the cow, and feed the horses that were not in 
regular work under some one else. For my Satur- 
days, and other holidays, including the three months 
of summer vacation, there was always the work on 
the farm, or the hauling upon the road with wagon 
and team. To tell the truth, I was always a bit lazy 
when it came to working with the hands only. I did 
not mind the work so much, if I could do it with 
the horses. So about all of my farm and road work 



Page Twenty-Two 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

was with the horses and I early became a good horse- 
man. The wheat cutting and the haying were always 
in the summer vacation. I was generally put to 
drive the horses in the harvest time. A mere boy of 
little use in binding, shocking wheat, or pitching hay, 
could do a man's work if he could drive. Hence I 
was early put to drive and kept at it as my father 
was always a great economizer of money, time and 
labor. To the reaper in wheat cutting, we always 
had to use four horses; and as a labor-saving scheme, 
it always fell to my lot to drive them, even when I 
was quite young. I liked this, and became in time 
quite expert with a four-in-hand. 

My earliest ambition was to be a stage-driver and 
about my earliest recollection is of a bright red stage 
coach that daily passed the farni house where my 
childhood was spent, with four horses and a horn. 
How I daily, when a little fellow, watched for itl 
Its passing was a bright, cheery, particular event of 
my day then. i\t the first distant sound of the horn, 
I rushed bareheaded and barefooted, with yells and 
waving cap to the highroad to see it go by. I think 
the driver, realizing what an enthusiastic admirer he 
had in me, generally gave an extra toot and flourish 
for my benefit. 

To what trivial events in childhood do we owe 
our tastes and predilections: 

' 'A pebble in the streamlet cast 

Changes in its course the mighty river, 
A dew drop on the bal)y plant 
Dwarfs the giant oak forever." 



Page Twenty-Three 

FAMILY ENVIRONMENT AND EDUCATION 

Since these early boyhood days, I have driven many 
thousands of miles in my own coach; ofttime with 
pleasurable, interesting, and exciting incident and 
scene, yet I doubt if any of them thrilled and excited 
me more than did this first red stage coach, with its 
four horses and its horn. 

My second and lasting ambition was to be a law- 
yer. I have always thought I was really better quali- 
fied for my first ambition, "The Stage Driver," than 
I ever was for my second. However, to the second, 
although poorly equipped in the beginning, I attrib- 
ute what little success I attained in later years — if 
success it can be called. Alas! What is Success? 
Who Knows? 

The above sentence calls to my mind a pretty Alle- 
gory, "Success and Failure"; written by Beatrice Har- 
raden, the authoress, as every one knows, of "Ships 
That Pass in the Night." This Allegory, questions, 
I remember, the standard by which Success in this 
world is commonly judged and how different it may 
be from the standard applied in the World beyond 
this. I met with this little story but once — that was 
when years ago on a Coaching Trip, I chanced to 
pick it up and read it at a hotel where we had stopped 
for a day or two's rest. 

The proprietor told me that Beatrice Harraden 
was then living with some English friends of hers, 
only fifteen miles away, at a picturesque and pretty 
cottage, on a little farm that they were wanting to 



Page Twenty-Four 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

sell. The next day, I hired a livery team and drove 
over to see the cottage and the farm. The proprietor 
of the hotel kindly gave me a note of introduction. 
I was asked to remain over to luncheon and I did so. 
Beatrice Harraden and the gentleman's wife (whose 
name has escaped me, but to whom Miss Harraden 
dedicated "Ships That Pass in the Night") chanced 
to be out for the day. The gentleman was quite 
full of Beatrice (as he called her) and her work, 
and he showed me the desk upon which "Ships That 
Pass in the Night" had been written. When I men- 
tioned the little Allegory written by her, that I had 
just read, over at the hotel, and remarked that it 
pleased me better even than "Ships That Pass in the 
Night," he expressed his surprise. The next day 
the gentleman called upon me at my hotel and told 
me how pleased Beatrice was when she came home 
to hear I had spoken so highly of her Allegory. 

I do think Beatrice Harraden's Allegory is a liter- 
ary gem, and the best thing she has written. At 
least, it seemed so to me, from the one reading at the 
little Way Side Inn. I want to get it and read it 
again. 

We all know, however, how much environment, 
time and place and the mood you are in when you 
read, has to do with our judgment of books. After 
a day on the road, over the horses, with a Road 
Coach, I am alive "to my finger tips." The stop 
for night at a Way Side Inn after such a day makes 



Page Twenty-Five 

FAMILY ENVIRONMENT AND EDUCATION 

the parlor maid look the fine lady and any little book- 
let that has for the time pleased you a literary gem. 

After leaving College, I began in a sort of perfunc- 
tory way the study of the law. I had always some- 
how loved the atmosphere of courts — so when I was 
not engaged with the law books, in the office of the 
lawyer who kindly took me in and promised to direct 
my reading, I was usually to be found in and about 
the court room. The sharp legal sparring of coun- 
sel; the skilled management of a case on trial; the 
adroit handling of a witness on the stand; and the 
final arguments interested me. I liked to hear the 
stories and jokes of the members of the Bar and 
their bye talk in the court room, when waiting for 
the court to call. I knew the big lawyers — the lead- 
ing members — by sight at least, and knew just how 
big they were, or thought I did. 

Among those leading members that always attend- 
ed our District Court was the great Abraham Lin- 
coln. At that time, however, 1850 to i860, I do 
not think he was considered an all 'round great law- 
yer. I heard Mr. Lincoln several times in import- 
ant cases. I have seen and heard in my day some 
great lawyers, but none that seemed to me so great 
as Mr. Lincoln before a jury. He was matchless, 
too, in his great hearted, kindly winning way of 
handling a witness, and I never knew him on cross- 
examination ask an opposing witness a question too 
many. He managed by his honest face and straight- 



Page Twenty-Six 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

forwardness to get out of the witness the very best 
there was in him for Mr. Lincoln's client. 

I and two of my college class-mates were — while 
we were in College — summoned as witnesses for 
the State, in the great murder case of the State vs. 
Quin Harrison, tried at Springfield, Illinois, about 
1857. We were all class-mates of Quin Harrison 
and knew him well. We were summoned to be 
used by the State in rebuttal, should the defense at- 
tempt to establish a good character in the defend- 
ant. As we knew nothing of the case and were 
summoned only on character, we were excused from 
being put under the rule but compelled to remain 
through the trial. 

Harrison had, in a private difficulty, killed his 
brother-in-law, one Grafton. The Harrison and 
Grafton families were both prominent and wealthy. 
Logan and Lincoln — formerly law partners — were 
retained for the defense, and John M. Palmer — 
afterwards Governor and then United States Sena- 
tor — was retained for the State. It was a great trial 
— one noted in the annals of criminal trials in that 
Country. The facts of the case as I remember them 
were: Grafton and Harrison had fallen out about 
something and there was the most bitter feeling be- 
tween them; Harrison was in the rear of a drug store 
when Grafton came in, stopped at the counter where 
were the counter scales and weights, picked up ;i 
weight and either threw or threatened to throw it, 
when Harrison drew a knife, rushed at Grafton and 



Page Twenty-Seven 

FAMILY ENVIRONMENT AND EDUCATION 

cut him literally in pieces. From the wounds Graf- 
ton died in a short time. 

Peter Cartwright — a most noted divine and Cir- 
cuit Rider, one of the most famous men in Illinois 
then — was the grandfather of Harrison and a wit- 
ness at the trial. There were great lawyers on both 
sides and they arose to the greatness of the occasion. 
John M. Palmer had been formerly District Attor- 
ney — he was a great prosecutor and a great crimi- 
nal lawyer. Peter Cartwright's evidence as to Graf- 
ton's deathbed confession to him : — that he and Quin 
had made up and that Quin ought not to be punished, 
for he was not to blame — caused an acquittal. 

For a time I continued my law reading in a desul- 
tory sort of way. I soon discovered that from a 
want of adaptation to my environment, I was inca- 
pable of anything like close attention or continuous 
study. For one thing, I lacked the necessary means. 
My father never gave me pocket money or an allow- 
ance. It is true he then did not have much to give; 
but it never occurred to him I really required it, or 
that it was good for me. His idea was "it is good 
for a man that he wear the yoke in his youth" ; but 
my father never, as Ruskin advised, made the reins 
he held "of silken thread with sweet chimes of silv-er 
bells at the bridle." 

I just then needed the silken rein and the silver 
bells badly; I also needed encouragement, and some 
little pocket money, and some presentable clothes. 



Page Twenty-Eight 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

Partially for want of them, I was getting out of 
touch with those who had been my friends and asso- 
ciates. I felt, too, that I was rather in disgrace from 
my failure to make good in my college class work. 
I needed some little social life among the best peo- 
ple. I missed the calls we college boys were allowed 
to make, when properly accredited, upon our girl 
friends, in the Academy Parlor Friday evenings. I 
missed the occasional hops we young folks had, for 
want of proper apparel, and the little where-with-all 
to pay my part for the music. I missed my nice girl 
friends. What young man almost twenty would not? 
I missed the ball games, the jumping and the other 
athletics on the College Green. 

The only credit I ever got in College was on the 
College campus; in the Jumping Classes. In some 
of these I held the record; and was very proud of it. 
Alas ! I had so little in those days to be proud of. 
To make up for my lost College games, I took up 
Cricket — Base Ball was then unknown, at least to us. 
The English baker (at one time associated with my 
father) was a great cricketer, and belonged to a 
Cricket Club. He early took me to the practice 
games, before I entered College; and I was soon a 
fair cricketer. The County I lived in and the adjoin- 
ing ones were largely settled by sturdy English far- 
mers and they kept up this national game. 

There were Cricket Matches held between the 
Clubs; I often played as a substitute. I became very 
fond of the game. When I was shut out of College 



Page Twenty-Nine 

FAMILY ENVIRONMENT AND EDUCATION 

life, I again took up this English game and played at 
every opportunity. As I became, from frequent prac- 
tice, more expert, I played in the big matches. These 
matches would sometimes take me to one of the near- 
by towns or counties, where I would often remain 
over night. 

I was getting into bad ways. I often played cards; 
hoping my winnings would help me out. But, alas I 
instead of winning, I got in debt. So, wrecked and 
well nigh ruined, as I then thought, I left home; 
leaving my debts (except the gambling ones) for my 
father to pay. The gambling debts, years aftenvards, 
thanks to Fortune! I was able to pay myself; and I 
did pay them. 

The life I was now leading distressed my father 
beyond measure. After I left the College, his hopes 
for my education seemed to vanish. While he did 
not openly oppose my taking up the study of the law, 
I could well see he had no faith in it. He evidently 
did not believe I was capable of that prolonged and 
earnest study, without which little can be accom- 
plished. Situated and environed as I then was I felt 
he was right. 

My father was kindness itself but quick-tempered. 
When fretted or angry with me, he often used words 
that would cut me to the quick. Without I was 
asked, or had good cause, I had been quite too well 
raised to answer on such occasions, consequently my 
father soon indicated in his kindly way his regret for 



Page Thirty 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

the necessity of so speaking, and our friendly rela- 
tions were never disturbed. 

During these last home days, however, breaking 
no doubt from age and hard work and from the loss 
of his small fortune, grieved besides that I — ^his only 
son — had so disappointed him, I observed a change. 
He became more quiet and taciturn. He left me 
more to myself. He no longer sat up for me at night 
and noted as before, my going out and my coming 
in. I naturally began to feel that my dear old father 
was giving me up as not after all worth while. 

It is a sad thing for a boy ever to feel that the 
tender ties that came with his birth and bound him 
to his home are weakening; that he will soon be tos- 
sing upon the wild waves, bereft of that tender affec- 
tion that came with his life and that should follow 
him to his grave; the loss for which the world has 
nothing to give in return, 

A boy who feels this, believing all is lost for him 
at home, stiffens and hardens; and with his face set, 
takes often alone, with a sad heart, the hard road to 
meet in faraway lands his inexorable fate. 

About this time, the Winter of 1859, I received a 
letter from a distant cousin, telling me his father was 
having built for him a mill to crush the hard, gold- 
bearing quartz of the Rocky Mountains; and asking 
me to join him; and go with him to Pike's Peak — 
just then the land of golden promise in the luring 
West. I obtained my father's reluctant consent; and 
the next morning, with my few clothes and forty 
dollars — all my father had to give me — I set out. 



CHAPTER THREE 

I LEAVE HOME 

MY Immediate destination was Kansas City, 
from which point we were expected to 
start with the crushing mill, wagoning 
across the great plains over the Santa Fe 
Trail. The rivers were closed by ice ; so I must jour- 
ney by rail to a Station on the Hannibal and St. Joe 
Railroad, then by stage to Westport and Kansas City. 
I reached Kansas City without mishap, other than 
the loss of all my baggage. When I reached West- 
port, the morning after an all-night ride by stage, 
and came to look for my trunk, in the hind boot, I 
found only the handle (and a piece of one end) tied 
to a rope end dragging in the road. The Stage Com- 
pany found my Prince Albert tailor-made coat — the 
first and only one I ever had up to that time and for 
many years after — and returned it to me. The re- 
mainder of my worldly possessions — except the lit- 
tle money in my pocket — were gone forever, and 
without redress that I could obtain. 

The only other passengers in the stage were a 



Page Thirty-Two 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

young man and his sister, whose names I have for- 
gotten long since. They, like myself, were on their 
first trip to the West, where they expected to make 
their future home. The gentleman had been appointed 
United States District Attorney for Kansas. How I 
envied him ! Alas ! how different seemed his pros- 
pects from my own. I found these people most de- 
lightful traveling companions. In the two or three 
days and nights we journey together we became great 
friends. The stage never stopped, except for meals 
and to change horses. How their congenial and 
bright company cheered and made pleasant what 
would otherwise have been a long and dreary ride 
for me; and how they sympathized and tried to com- 
fort me in my loss ! I never saw nor heard of them 
afterwards, yet the gentle and refined sister would 
somehow come into my thoughts and dreams all 
through my hard days and nights, for a long time 
thereafter. 

And after all why should I not have thought and 
dreamed of her? She was but a gentle, pretty girl 
that sat by me in the back seat inside the coach, day 
and night, her brother much of the time on the box 
with the driver. If she ever sat close to me, it was 
but for a moment, when the road was rough and 
sidling, and the coach jostled her to my side. Some- 
times, there was a long hill to go down in the night, 
and the horses either could not or would not hold. 
Then the old coach rocked and pitched and rattled 
and seemed dangerous. Sometimes, too, in the sharp, 



Page Thirty-Three 

/ LEAVE HOME 

Steep hills, as Mark Twain says in his "Roughing 
It," "every time we flew down one bank and 
scrambled up the other, our party inside got mixed 
somewhat. First we would be down in a pile at one 
end of the stage, nearly in a sitting posture, and in 
a second we would shoot to the other end and stand 
on our heads. It was facinating — that old Overland 
Stage-coaching." 

Is it any wonder that miserable as I was at start- 
ing, this delightful ride and company caused me to 
forget my wretchedness and to wish this stage-ride 
might go on forever? This stage-ride was my first 
boyish "foray into the World of Sentiment," as Ike 
Marvel calls it. Was it any wonder that I wanted 
it to go on ? But it did not. At Kansas City, which 
we soon reached after leaving Westport, I reluct- 
antly parted from my new friends, never to again 
meet or hear from or of them. 

I have had many a coaching trip since but none 
that so lifted me from the depths into — forgetfulness. 

A disagreeable surprise awaited me at Kansas City. 
Imagine my discomfiture to find on my arrival, that 
the quartz mill had been tried, found wanting, and 
rejected. They had taken it down on Blue, a rocky 
creek a few miles from Kansas City, the day before 
my arrival, put it to work on the hard blue rock 
there, and found that instead of the mill crushing 
the rock, the rock crushed the mill. My cousin re- 
fused to receive and pay for it, and the Pike's Peak 
project was at an end. This change of programme 



Page Thirty-Four 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

left me stranded, in what was then nothing more 
than a straggHng river town. I had not enough of 
my forty dollars left to take me home, had I been 
disposed to go. In my extremity my cousin took me 
at once to his home where his mother, a first cousin 
of mine, whom I had never seen to remember, took 
care of me as though I were her own son. After 
Pike's Peak with its golden promises — alas ! never to 
be realized by usi — we began to talk of Texas and 
Old Mexico. 

I had naturally quite a little of the martial spirit 
in me. One of my early recollections is of a military 
funeral, conducted with the solemnity befitting such 
an occasion, and all the pomp and pageantry of War. 
When I witnessed this I was but eight years of age. 
On the return of our troops from the War with 
Mexico an Illinois Regiment raised in my section 
brought back with them the remains of John J. Har- 
din, their Colonel, who fell gallantly leading his regi- 
ment on the field of Buena Vista. John J. Hardin 
had been a prominent lawyer in Central Illinois be- 
fore he raised his regiment and enlisted as a soldier. 

The regimental band with its shining big brass in- 
struments led the procession, followed by a troop of 
cavalry. Then came the soldier's bier draped in black 
and festooned with flowers. Then Colonel Hardin's 
great horse, saddled and duly caparisoned for War. 
Then the big drum, followed by the Infantry Regi- 
ment with trailing arms, marching with drooping 



Page Thirty-Five 

/ LEAVE HOME 

heads and regular solemn step to the measured tap, 
tap, tap of the muffled drum. When the body was 
loAvered and the grave filled, then volley after volley 
of musketry fired over It rang out through the ceme- 
tery groves, accompanied by loud strains of martial 
music, and the trampling and neighing of cavalry 
horses. It was an inspiring occasion. The first of its 
kind I had ever seen. It so impressed and excited 
me, that for weeks after; myself and a boy friend 
marched to fife and drum. I the fifer, my friend 
the drummer. Later we organized a boy company 
and paraded the streets to this martial music. 

How impressionable is Youth ! Here was a great 
Civilian Soldier, who first gained distinction at the 
Bar and in the Forum — then died for his Country, 
winning fame and glory at the cannon's mouth. His 
services were appreciated. Henry Van Dyke says : 
"The true measure of Success is appreciation." Is 
not this Success ? Who knows ? Just how much my 
early witnessing this mlhtary display had to do with 
my desire to enter the Army or Navy no one can 
tell. 

After witnessing this funeral pageant, I read 
everything I could lay my hands on pertaining to the 
Mexican War. I followed this with a History of 
Texas and her War for Independence. The story 
of the Fall of the Alamo and the heroic deaths of 
Travis, Bowie, Davy Crockett and their more than 
three hundred hero followers thrilled me. 

I was wholly of Southern blood. Is it any wonder 



Page Thirty-Six 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

that I took the Texas fever? I talked with my cousin 
of Texas day and night. It seemed to me that to the 
poor, the young and the adventurous it was the land 
of the greatest possibilities. We decided if possible 
to go there. Meantime I remained under my cousin's 
hospitable roof and was treated as a member of the 
famJly. All were kind to me, Many years after, in 
a way I may write of later, I was able to repay this 
kindness. Meanwhile, we continued to talk of Mexico 
and Texas and of the Great Southwest. 

I had a friend with General Walker in Nicarauga. 
His stories had kindled my ardor and inflamed my 
imagination. We chanced to meet about this time, 
too, a young friend of my cousin, who had been 
across the plains to California with sheep and had 
made a little money out of the business. My cousin 
prevailed upon his father to give him money for a 
similar sheep venture. Whereupon these two young 
men purchased in partnership a drove of sheep to be 
driven overland to Texas. They offered me twenty- 
five dollars per month to go with them as a herds- 
man; we to start as soon as the sheep contracted for 
should be ready. Before I received this offer, unwill- 
ing to be dependent, I had secured a position and 
gone to work in a packing house — a position I held 
until the season closed. After the packing house shut 
down, I was put to work in a forwarding and com- 
mission house belonging to the same firm. This firm 
also had a banking house in another part of the city. 
My hope was to get a permanent position in the 



Page Thirty-Seven 

/ LEAVE HOME 

banking house. Failing in this and faihng to get any 
remunerative or responsible position in the forward- 
ing and commission house, or any promise of one, 1 
accepted the offer to go to Texas as a sheep herdsman. 
It has often occurred to me that had I succeeded 
in getting a permanent position in the banking house, 
I would have been thrown quite out of the line to- 
wards the gratification of all my early ambitions. 
How after all: 

"There's a Divinity that shapes our ends, 
liough lu'W" them as we may." 

It is true in later years I became a banker and as 
such I had a considerable balance with the same firm 
when they failed as bankers in New York. This 
was, however, years after my first early ambitions 
were gratified or given up. 

My failure to secure what I then wished sent me 
to Texas, then to me the land of Romance and Story, 
if not of Song. 



CHAPTER FOUR 

I GO WITH THE SHEEP 

SPRING was sobering into Summer before we 
got started with the sheep. Our party con- 
sisted of the two owners, two herdsmen, and 
the cook. We had a wagon to haul our 
suppHes, our tent, our bedding, our baggage, 
and a canvas corral, in which to pen the sheep. 
As we expected to be with the sheep on the 
road all day, we could not, like the Shepherds of 
Galilee, "Guard our flocks by night." This canvas 
corral, in which to put the sheep, was a very clever 
and handy device, and it answered the purpose ad- 
mirably. It was a strip of cheap canvas a yard wide, 
with a rope about the thickness of a clothes line run- 
ning through the top and bottom, with a good sharp- 
ened, hardwood stake, about five feet long every 
eight feet, to drive into the ground and hold It taut 
and upright — like the wings of a partridge net. It 
made a secure home for the sheep. The wolves in 
numbers would howl about it; but not one dared to 
go over it. 



Page Forty 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

After the first night or two the sheep would go 
into it of their own accord, if left open (as it always 
was) at nightfall. We would then close the opening 
and the sheep were safe and they soon fully realized 
they were so. 

Our trip to Texas lay mostly through the Indian 
Territory. We were about three months on the road. 
The herdsmen found the first half of the journey 
very laborious. The sheep were left solely to their 
care. The sheep dog we started out v/ith was little 
help to us. He was a brindle cross-breed animal, 
called Ring, with little or no herding instincts. Some 
one has said that it is as difficult to handle a sheep 
herd without a good shepherd dog as it is to handle 
a ship without a rudder, and I found this the case. 
As I had had more or less experience with handling 
sheep upon the farni, and before I was eight years 
old went with my father to Alton, Illinois, eighty 
miles from where we lived and with him drove a 
flock of sheep to our home, the herd was put in 
my especial charge. My greatest trouble was in 
keeping other little bunches of sheep, that we met 
with in the open country, from rushing into our big 
flock. While a sheep is the gentlest of animals, when 
it sets its head to do anything it is almost impossible 
without a good dog to stop it. 

Our route was entirely through an open country 
and we found many small bunches of sheep scat- 
tered all over the Open belonging to small ranchmen 
and settlers. If our larger flock came anywhere near 



Page Forty-One 

/ GO WITH THE SHEEP 

them, the little bunches would rush in amongst them, 
in spite of all we could do; a dozen men on foot or 
horseback could not keep them out. We lost much 
time in segregating these small bunches from our 
own flock, when they would so run into us. 

Fortunately for us, we one day met some sheep 
drovers returning from Texas to Wisconsin. Their 
business had been to annually drive sheep from Wis- 
consin and other Western States into Texas, sell them 
out and return for another herd. They were two 
brothers who I afterwards learned to know well in 
Texas. Seeing our flock, they camped with us one 
night in the Cherokee Indian Country. They had 
with them two excellent sheep dogs. As they had 
made up their minds not to return to Texas with 
another herd, they proposed to sell us one or both 
of their dogs. For the old and experienced one, 
they asked $150; for the young one — little more 
than a puppy — that they called Shooter, they asked 
$50. The next morning we went out with the sheep 
and saw the dogs work. They handled the sheep to 
perfection, and the owners finally sold the young dog 
Shooter to us. 

From that on we had httle trouble in handling the 
sheep. I had always been fond of dogs, and as I 
was head herdsman. Shooter and I became great 
chums and companions, and we were inseparable from 
the start. I had carefully observed how the owners 
handled him; so Shooter worked for me almost to 
perfection ; and by the time we reached Texas he was 



Page Forty-Two 

THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

a "Gray-dog" to rank almost with Bob the Gray- 
dog of Kenmuier, that Oliphant writes about in his 
great book, "Bob Son of Battle." 

About the only incident or happening on the road 
that I call to mind was the little experience I had with 
a roaming Indian that stopped at the tent one day 
when I happened to be there by myself. This Indian 
could not speak a word of English. He was exceed- 
ingly friendly, however, and staid about the tent for 
an hour or so. The only time I left him was when 
I took a bucket and walked to the spring for water. 
I was only gone two or three minutes and not out 
of sight of the tent and the Indian more than a few 
seconds. When I came back, the Indian was still 
seated upon the camp stool where I had left him, 
and was perfectly friendly and smiling. After a 
while, and before any of our party had shown up, 
he put off down the road on foot as he came, A 
little while after he left, I thought I would look 
over things in the tent and see if anything was 
missing. I soon found my pistol was gone. I im- 
mediately got on my horse and galloped after him, 
I overtook him on the high-road, rode up and de- 
manded my pistol. He quietly pulled it from under 
his blanket and handed it to me without a word, 
still pleasant and smiling, even laughing, in a good- 
humored way, as though all was a good joke. How 
a bit of humor will ofttimes relieve an embarrasing 
situation. I failed to see the joke, but I did not tell 
the Indian. I left him, and we both went on our 



Page Forty-Three 

/ GO WITH THE SHEEP 

way rejoicing, at least, I was rejoicing, and the In- 
dian did not seem to be at all put out over the mat- 
ter. 

On our route, we passed through four Indian 
Tribes, — the Quapaws, the Cherokees, the Chlcka- 
saws, and the Creeks. All of the tribes were friendly 
and civilized. I was not a little surprised to find a 
good deal of wealth and culture among many of the 
families of the half-breeds. Some of them had plan- 
tations and owned property and slaves, and It was 
not uncommon to find daughters in these half-breed 
families that were blonds, and even cultured, and that 
had been educated in the schools of the East. 

Summer browned into Autumn by the time we 
crossed Red River at Colbert's Ferry and passed 
into Texas. Our destination was Central Texas, 
about lOO miles south of Red River. After we 
crossed Red River, feeling that Shooter, — the "Gray- 
dog" and myself could take care of the flock and the 
outfit, the owners left us, going on to Texas to find 
us a location for the winter. They found a beauti- 
ful valley between Mountain and Fish Creeks in the 
second tier of counties about one hundred miles south 
of Red River in Central Texas. They selected for 
winter quarters a location at what was known as 
Pecan Springs. This was a noted and beautiful 
spring from which flowed, at all seasons of the year, 
a branch emptying into Mountain Creek. It was at 
the head of a valley, with Mountain Creek on the 
right and several miles away Fish Creek on the left. 



Page Forty-Four 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

Just north of the spring was a magnificent open grove 
of oaks of fifty to one hundred acres. Our shepherd's 
hut, built of slabs, was located on the edge of this 
grove only a few steps from the spring. It was a 
beautiful location; and I there spent with Shooter, 
the "Gray-dog," six of the most reposeful and profit- 
able months of my life. 

We met the proprietors of the herd returning 
when we were about three miles from what Is noAv 
one of the largest cities of the State — then a strag- 
ghng hamlet on the banks of the Trinity river. As 
we had all been from three to four months in camp 
on the road, the young owners suggested that the 
sheep be left with the cook, one herdsman and 
Shooter, and we three young fellows go Into town 
and take a day or two off. 

We did this, leaving the sheep on the premises of 
Mr. Caruth, one of the largest and wealthiest farm- 
ers In the County. We had his consent to graze the 
sheep over his lands, and his promise to personally 
look after them and our men while we were having 
our little outing in town. 

This farmer and his family were good friends of 
mine for more than a quarter of a century, and al- 
though the farmer has passed to the Great Un- 
known, members of his family are my friends now. 

With a glad "Good-bye!" to the herd for a day or 
two, we young chaps mounted our horses and put out 



Page Forty-Five 

/ GO WITH THE SHEEP 

for town, stopping of course at the best hotel — a bare 
little brick one on the corner of the Square. 

This was in the Fall of i860. The South was 
then beginning to be quite excited over the Secession 
Problem; war was in the air; and there was a lot of 
silly talk about Northern incendiaries coming South 
and inciting insurrection among the negroes. The 
town had been burned (much of it) a few weeks 
before our arrival; and this burning (though no doubt 
accidental) was attributed to the Northern incendia- 
ries. We reached the hotel in the afternoon, and no- 
ticed we were objects of remark. During the even- 
ing, as the people about the hotel seemed desirous 
of drawing us out, we were asked how we stood on 
the election, and whether we were for John C. Breck- 
enridge for president? Where we were from, etc., 
etc., I answered, that I was from Illinois and was 
not for John C. Breckenridge for president. That 
settled it for me with that crowd. A prominent 
lawyer and politician from a neighboring town, 
who happened to be stopping at the hotel and whom 
I learned to know well afterwards — then endeavored 
to engage me in a political discussion. As I had had 
a wash-up (no baths then, either public or private 
in that town) and may be a little of other Texas 
tonic, I was no way averse. So we discussed politics. 
I was in those days a Douglas Democrat. I had 
heard Lincoln and Douglas in their noted Illinois 
Senatorial Campaign in 1858 speak from the same 
platform., at Winchester, Illinois. As Winchester 



Page Forty-Six 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

was in the adjoining county to where I Hved and was 
only seventeen miles from the College I attended, a 
party of college boys went down with a brass band 
and a band-wagon. I was on the wagon — drove the 
team in fact, as I now remember it. Our college 
party with the band-wagon were all Douglas Demo- 
crats. 

Scott County, Illinois, of which Winchester was 
the county seat, was the Little Giant's stronghold, as 
it was from that county Stephen A. Douglas entered 
public life. Our band-wagon with the band in it was 
pulled up along side of the platform and the horses 
taken out. There was a piece of artillery stationed 
at the other side. As Mr. Douglas would close one 
of his especially well-rounded periods, he would 
pause, and the cannon would roar out ; then the crowd 
would yell. Up would go the hats and coon-skin 
caps of the democracy. 

Mr. Douglas went on in this strain for quite a 
while. At each rounded period. Boom ! went the big 
cannon and hip ! hip ! hurrah ! went the crowd. We 
boys on the band-wagon were wild with enthusiasm, 
of course. 

By the time Mr. Lincoln, however, had finished 
his answering address, I had made up my mind that 
Mr. Lincoln was a bigger man than Mr. Douglas, 
our Little Giant, still I did not on that account abate 
any part of my democratic enthusiasm, and continued 
to talk Douglas democracy to the last; and our ap- 



Page Forty-Seven 

/ GO WITH THE SHEEP 

pearance, coupled with my rather free Douglas and 
Lincoln talk got us into trouble. 

Sometime during the night, we were aroused by 
the Vigilance Committee, so-called. When we de- 
scended the stairs into the lobby, a party of men 
quietly surrounded us and demanded we go wath 
them. They, followed by some stragglers, took us 
up into a large half-lighted room immediately over 
a bar, where we were informed by the spokesman 
for the committee that we were regarded as suspi- 
cious characters and believed to be Northern emissar- 
ies from the free States of the North; sent down, no 
doubt, to stir up insurrection among the negroes; and 
they proposed to deal with us then and there as such. 

The spokesman then alluded to what I had said at 
the hotel about Douglas and Lincoln; and about my- 
self as being from Illinois; and being opposed to John 
C. Breckenridge, the then candidate for president of 
the Southern Democrats. He demanded that we give 
an account of ourselves. 

As we came into the hall something like a dozen 
men — the committee we supposed — seated them- 
selves in a row of chairs fronting the table by which 
was the chairman, and upon which was a water 
pitcher and a glass. With the exception of some rude 
benches arranged against the walls, there was little 
else in the room. Adjoining this, the door stand- 
ing open, was a kind of anteroom in which there 
seemed to be the various paraphernalia pertaining to 



Page Forty-Eight 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

a lodge. We all took this in at a glance as we were 
ushered in. 

The situation was alarming, to me at least. They 
had as yet, however, made no movement toward dis- 
arming us. This, we had made up our minds, at 
Wiggs' suggestion, not to allow if we could help it. 

Wiggs was my cousin's partner, and quite a man 
by the way, as I found out in our long trip with the 
sheep. Besides the six-shooter we all carried, Wiggs 
always had a large heavy Bowie or hunting knife at 
his belt. In an instant, he could snatch this big knife, 
stick it in a tree at twenty paces; and before it would 
stop quivering plant six pistol balls around it in a cir- 
cle with almost a jeweler's regularity in setting dia- 
monds or pearls about a center stone. He was a 
finished horseman. Dark, straight and wirey as an 
Indian. He had been bred and brought up on the 
frontier and the Western plains. He was, barring 
the mean disposition and intemperate habits, a verit- 
able Slade such as Mark Twain writes about. He 
was a grim man, of few words, and of perfect habits, 
and I learned to have the greatest respect for him. 
His quiet manners, nerve and coolness had settled 
numerous squabbles we had over the sheep, which, 
in spite of us, would occasionally mix with those of 
other drovers on the way down. 

My cousin was of a totally different type. He was 
large, red-haired, quick-tempered. Both were men 
of action and to be depended upon. 

As the men who called for us at the hotel ushered 



Page Forty-Nine 

/ GO WITH THE SHEEP 

US in, and took their seats — juror like — not a word 
was spoken by any one. Left to ourselves, we three 
together dropped into one of the vacant benches on 
the side of the room. The stragglers, attracted from 
curiosity, no doubt, arranged themselves upon the 
other benches. As I was the chief offender, and had 
gotten us all into this scrape by my unwise and inde- 
pendent talk — for which my friends had mildly cen- 
sured me — I was quite uncomfortable and felt, I con- 
fess, quite weak-kneed and shaky. On our way down, 
we had heard of blanket-tossing, stripes upon the bare 
back, tar and feathers, and other more serious in- 
dignities being inflicted upon Northern men, who 
were not in sympathy with the Southerners. So I, 
for one, felt that I was in for it. 

My two friends, upon being called upon, explained 
that they were from Missouri, a slave State, and that 
one of them (my cousin) was a slave-holder; that 
they had come to Texas to make a home, bringing 
with them a flock of some two to three thousand 
sheep, that had been left with a farmer only three 
miles from town; that I was a herdsman in their em- 
ploy. 

This story did not satisfy our captors. They evi- 
dently did not believe it. They, however, at once 
sent off a night-rider, post-haste, to the farmer's, only 
three miles distant, for confirmation of this story. 

They then turned their attention to me. Their 
spokesman asked in no friendly tones, if I was the 
young man that had talked of Douglas and Lincoln 



Page Fifty 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

at the hotel, and boasted that I was not a supporter 
of John C. Breckenrldge, of Kentucky, for presi- 
dent? I, of course, had to admit that I was. He 
then demanded that I come forward. Heavens ! 
could I walk there? My heart seemed to stop beat- 
ing. With an appealing glance at my friends, I made 
the attempt, dropping down on the seat against the 
wall by the chairman, facing the committee. As I 
turned to sit, or rather sink, upon the rude bench, 
I saw my big, red-headed cousin, with a flush on his 
face, get up from his seat, and followed by grim 
Wiggs, deliberately walk forward and sit down be- 
side me. This move somehow transformed me. My 
spirits raised at once; my knees stiffened, and the 
shaky feeling left my legs. I no longer feared 
blanket-tossing or other indignities. 

With all the confidence I ever felt afterwards fac- 
ing danger, with a thousand men at my back, I 
stepped to the table at the chairman's side, emptied 
into his water glass the raw tonic I had left from the 
hotel flask, added a little water to it, swallowed it at 
a gulp, and facing the committee, in as quiet and 
modest a manner as I could command, began to teil 
my simple story. 

I admitted, of course, all that had been charged 
against me as to my talk at the hotel, excepting the 
boasting feature; alluded to my Southern parentage, 
spoke of my natural predilection for the people of the 
South, and how I had come there hoping for a live- 
lihood, and to make a home in Texas. By this time, 



Page Fifty-One 

/ GO WITH THE SHEEP 

the stiff "smile" I had swallowed began to work to- 
wards my brain. This, with the sheep, and a well- 
remembered school-boy speech, got all mixed togeth- 
er in my head; and I began to make myself ridiculous, 
no doubt, and to orate something after the style of 
Norval, the Shepherd lad who "tended his father's 
flocks upon the Grampian Hills." I knevv^ all this 
old speech by heart, as I had declaimed it in school- 
boy days; and I tried, with my excited and fuddled 
brain, to remould and fit it to my case and the occas- 
ion. How well I succeeded, I never knew. At any 
rate, with all of Norval's boldness, when as a plain 
shepherd's lad he faced the king and all his mail-clad 
warriors, and with, I imagine, little of his simple elo- 
quence, I worked myself along somewhat upon these 
lines: "I am a freeborn man! A plain sheep herds- 
man ! In Illinois, my father feeds his flocks ! His 
constant care to increase his store, and keep his only 
son, myself, at home." 

I went on in this pompous style until I had worked 
in about all of the old speech; and then, alas! I col- 
lapsed. As I backed off; and dropped into the seat 
between my friends, I saw my big cousin had his 
short, stiff, red hair standing like a brush; and his 
eyes and face blazing; looking, as it occurs to me now, 
for all the world like "Red Wullie," when he held 
the bridge for Adam M. Adam against the mob. I 
knew, too, from the grip and grim look Wiggs gave 
me, he would be glad to interrupt, upon his own ac- 
count, any little pleasantry like blanket-tossing or 



Page Fifty-Two 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

Stripes for me. In fact, we three just then, with our 
backs to the wall would not have despaired of hold- 
ing our end of the hall against the committee and 
the crowd. 

I had none too much nerve myself, in the begin- 
ning especially; but just then we were all so wrought 
up, we would have welcomed a little rough handling 
by the committee. I fancied I could pick out on the 
person of the chairman the exact spot where Wiggs 
would first fling his Bowie, and upon the first six 
jurors the exact spot where he would plant his first 
six shots. From the confusion that would naturally 
ensue from Wiggs' display of marksmanship, I cal- 
culated that I, the most interested, if not the most en- 
thusiastic of those present, might, if necessary, beat 
a safe retreat; or, failing in this, I knew Red Wul- 
lie, my cousin, would do his best to keep off the other 
six and the mob. 

But again, good fortune and a bit of humor saved 
the situation and the day, to Wiggs' disappointment 
— as I could see. I had observed, before I sat down, 
that a gentleman came into the room and quietly 
seated himself upon one of the front benches, just as 
I concluded. In the awkward pause that followed 
my Norval, Grampian Hill peroration, this gentle- 
man arose to his feet. It seems that this Colonel L. 
(as I will call him here), had gotten word of what 
was going on, and had hastened to our relief. He 
had met our Wiggs at the home of a relative a few 
days before, when Wiggs was on his prospecting trip 



Page Fifty- Three 

/ GO WITH THE SHEEP 

in advance of the sheep, and he knew all about this 
remarkable man, and his peerless horsemanship and 
marksmanship. In fact, they had had a day together 
shooting prairie chickens over the dogs at one Mr. 
Frank Wiggs', a cousin of our Wiggs. 

In this shooting, our Wiggs disdaining the shotgun 
would shoot from his horse, dropping his chickens 
right and left with his six-shooter, performing the 
most unusual and wonderful feats. 

Wiggs, prior to his sheep venture, had spent his 
life among the trappers, mountaineers and freighters 
of the Western plains and mountains. He had once 
been a wagon boss for Majors, the great Western 
Overland freighter. His business was to ward off 
Indian attacks. His days w-ere spent on horseback 
pioneering, and protecting his train, and its precious 
freight. His nights in watchfulness. It was evident 
to me, that from the time we entered this midnight 
hall, Wiggs was in his eleemnt, and that he longed 
for some of his old-time Rocky Mountain diversion ; 
and that nothing would please him better than a re- 
newal here of past perils and exploits. But this was 
not to be. 

Colonel L. — a Hne type of the lawyer and the 
Southern gentleman — treated the whole matter in a 
most witty and humorous way, extolling Wiggs, who 
had greatly impressed him as M'as evident, by regal- 
ing the crowd with his marvelous feats, and with an 
account of his life and character. The Colonel also 
complimented my cousin and even alluded to me and 



Page Fifty-Four 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

my oration in a manner from which I would have 
gladly excused him. He wound up by intimating, in 
as polite terms as he could, that the committee had 
made fools of themselves, and by moving that we ad- 
journ to the bar below and take a drink all around at 
the chairman's expense. The motion carried unani- 
mously; and thus a little humorous talk relieved an 
embarrassing situation; and we were not long in re- 
joining the sheep. 

Three days brought us to the head of the lovely 
valley selected for our winter quarters. With posts 
cut by consent from the adjacent grove, and a load of 
slabs purchased from a saw mill near by, in two or 
three days we had a rough shelter of one room; 
where with Shooter for a companion, I was destined 
to spend the winter. 

This herdsman's shack had a big dirt fireplace in 
one end, a dirt floor, and a narrow opening at the 
other, where we hung a blanket to serve as a door. 
A rude bunk, also of slabs, wide enough for three 
upon occasion, with our camp blankets spread over 
it, served for a bed. A ten-dollar outlay, with the 
labor of all hands saw us in our winter quarters. We 
were no sooner in than the other herdsman and the 
cook were discharged, and I and Shooter left to get 
along the best we could. The gray dog was a rare 
companion for me. Shooter and the law books that 
Colonel L. so kindly loaned me were all the com- 
pany and all the equipment I needed. 

Without Shooter, the winter would have been a 



Page Fifty-Five 

/ GO WITH THE SHEEP 

dreary one. As it was, I got on admirably. Shooter 
was a most loyal, lovable and devoted friend. He 
never left me day or night. He at any moment 
would have died for me, or I believe for any sheep 
or lamb in the flock. The playful lambs often wor- 
ried him sorely. Sometimes when moving the sheep 
quietly toward the corral to be penned for the night, 
a bunch of lambs M'ould stop and have a gambol or 
play together at some sunny bank. Shooter would 
try to move them on with the flock, taking hold of 
them with his open jaws, like he would eat them 
alive. It was however no use. The lambs knew 
Shooter as well as I did. When the play was over, or 
the flock getting too far away to suit them, they would 
go on. The grav dog's heart was kind and gentle 
as a woman's, yet he feared nothing under the sun. 

How few of us properly appreciate animals ! I 
have lived with them all my life, and they have been 
one of my chief sources of happiness. T think "the 
man who cannot love animals but half lives." Life 
without them would seem to me a "very colorless and 
dreary affair." "The better we understand their 
ways and habits, the more they excite our interest 
nnd love." Those who do not love them, I think 
never knew them. With but a single exception, I 
have never known a wild animal that would not re- 
spond to human kindness when made sensible of it. 

In 1866, shortly after settling to the practice of 
law, in a frontier town, in Western Texas, my then 



Page Fifty-Six 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

law partner and myself during a summer's vacation 
of the courts, undertook to eke out a meager practice 
by attempting to make salt by solar evaporation. We 
established our camp at some Salt Springs. Buffalo 
covered the prairies in countless thousands, and all 
manner of wild game was abundant. My partner 
and myself walking down a rocky canyon one day 
with our guns, hoping to kill a fat buffalo cow for 
use at the camp, chancing to look up, saw a cougar's 
head protruding from an overhanging rock ledge not 
more than ten feet above us. 

My partner with a quick snap shot tumbled her to 
our feet. Three little cougar kittens came tumbling 
after, and refused to leave the body of their dead 
mother, clinging and crying around her in the most 
piteous and pathetic way. My partner had fired 
upon the impulse of impending danger to ourselves. 
For the sake of the crying cubs, what would we not 
have given to restore the mother! As that was im- 
possible, we determined to care for her helpless kit- 
tens the best we could. 

The little imps fought us to the last. Finally we 
cut some forked sticks and, pinning them to the 
ground, we tied their feet, and putting the three in a 
sack, took them to camp. We put slats over an old 
shoe box, made a soft bed in it for them, fed them 
milk and table scraps, treating them with the greatest 
kindness during all the weeks of our stay, but to no 
purpose. They remained snarhng, biting, scratching- 



Page Fifty-Seven 

/ GO WITH THE SHEEP 

little demons to the last; never responding in the least 
to kindness shown. 

My partner had a blacksmith make a strong iron 
cage; and the cubs were kept at his farm until they 
were fully grown. They would pull through the open 
gratings of their cage chickens, pigs, cats, dogs, and 
in fact everything that chanced to come within the 
reach of their merciless claws. By the time they had 
about bankrupted my partner, from having to pro- 
vide them daily with large quantities of fresh meat, 
he sold them to a traveling menagerie. They proved 
totally irresponsive to kindness; and were incorrigi- 
ble. I wonder if their natural dispositions were 
soured and their native savageq^ increased by infant 
recollections of their poor mother's tragic taking off? 
And if they connected us with it? 

Upon another occasion, Colonel Hood, my law- 
partner, did get a fat buftalo cow. The incident, 
while It came near being tragic, ended well and was 
all so ludicrous and funny that I will tell it here. The 
Colonel, his brotherin-law (whose name after all the 
long years has escaped me), and myself, had ridden 
out after big game for the camp. Going around the 
point of a hill we came upon a small bunch of buffalo. 
The Colonel (who was a tall, wiiT, lank and long 
frontiersman, and a good lawyer and horseman as 
well) singled out and galloped after a fat young buf- 
falo cow. As his horse brought him alongside, he fired 
both barrels of his gun loaded with buckshot just back 
of the cow's shoulder, and she dropped apparently 



Page Fifty-Eight 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

dead, with her nose in the grass, and all of her 
four feet gathered under her. The Colonel dis- 
mounted as we galloped up, threw his bridle reins to 
us, drew his six-shooter, and with his empty gun in 
his left and the pistol in his right hand, advanced 
upon the prostrate cow. The Colonel, from the po- 
sition of the cow, like ourselves, was a little suspi- 
cious; consequently, with each advancing step, he Hred 
a bullet from his pistol into the cow's head; and into 
the cow, and in the empty air: He fired something 
like this — "O, yes! bang! O, yes! bang! O, yes! 
bang! O, yes! bang! O, yes! bang I O, yes ! Damn 
you! bang! With the last shot from the pistol, and 
the last double-twisted utterance, the cow's tail took 
a quick upward twist, and she, with blazing eyes 
and nostrils, and a terrific roar, was on her feet m 
a mad rush for the Colonel. The Colonel turned, 
and hatless and gunless, with waving arms, terrific 
leaps, high jumps, side jumps, and plunges, and an 
agonized yell, made for us, calling for us to shoot. 
This we could not do, even had there been time, owing 
to the Colonel's mid-air gyrations right between us 
and the mad and dying animal. 

When all had about been given up for lost, the 
cow dropped stone dead; and the Colonel, exhausted 
and pale as death, tumbled beside her. When we 
found the Colonel was not touched, we could hold 
in no longer. We in turn rolled upon the ground, 
shouting with uncontrollable yells, and laughter. A 
madder man than the old Colonel, it would be im- 



Page Fifty-Nine 

/ GO WITH THE SHEEP 

possible to find. We rolled and yelled until the Col- 
onel staggered up and began to reload, declaring he 
would kill us. We, however, put him on his horse and 
took him to camp, where he took his pallet, and kept 
it most of the time for a week. We then returned 
and brought in the choice parts of the butchered cow, 
and the hide. The brother-in-law, a great mimic and 
born actor, regaled the camp for weeks after, furnish- 
ing great fun at the Colonel's expense. He explained 
his zig-zag running bv saying that someone had once 
told him that was the way to run from a gun — to run 
crooked like an old-fashioned worm (rail) fence, and 
this thought came into his head as he began his 
retreat. 

It was days, however, before the brother-in-law 
dared to tell and react it all, for the Colonel was al- 
ways dignified, and even irascible on occasion, espe- 
cially if he felt his dignity was being infringed upon. 

As the cow was young, large and fat, the hide was 
dark, long-haired, glossy and unusually fine. The 
darkies staked it out to dry with care, and we had it 
beautifully dressed. To say the Colonel highly 
prized it, is putting it mildly. He kept it to the last. 
The dear, old Colonel was twenty years my senior. 
He, like myself, was something of a pagan, and has 
long since passed to the happy hunting grounds. The 
beautiful buffalo skin may have been buried with 
him. I don't know. If it was, and I ever join him 
there, he will I know divide with me the soft side 
of It. 



Page Sixty 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

Negroes were employed at our salt works, and 
their Sunday amusement was to hunt with bulldogs — 
of which we kept several about the camp — weak buf- 
falos; killing them with knives for their hides. The 
dogs were so trained, they would seize the huge 
animals by the nose and hold them while the killing 
was done by a negro with a common butcher knife. 

These buffaloes were old bulls that had been driven 
from the herd, and came near the camp where the 
grass was more abundant than it was farther out on 
the plains where the vast herds then grazed. Upon 
these plains in those days (1866) buffaloes roamed 
in countless numbers. Everv creek and waterhole 
had its large camps maintained by Eastern companies, 
where hunters were hired, at ordinary work-a-day 
wages, to kill and skin them. 

A concealed hunter, with the wind in his favor, 
with the large bore, long-range rifle used for the pur- 
pose, would often drop a dozen or more in their tracks 
from one position, before the balance of the herd 
would take alarm. For several years, this traffic in 
hides was immense. The meat was left to waste and 
rot upon the prairies. Our negroes would receive 
at any of these camps a dollar for each hide delivered 
there. So they would stretch and stake them upon 
the ground to dry; and get quite a little money out 
of their Sunday sport. 

Except for an occasional fat cow for beef to sup- 
ply the needs of the camp, neither my partner or my- 
self ever hunted the buffalo. I never cared to shoot 



Page Sixty-One 

/ GO WITH THE SHEEP 

large game. You no sooner kill than you are in the 
butchering business. Shooting buffalo, even from 
horseback, is very tame sport. Any smart cow pony 
trained to work cattle can easily carry its rider along- 
side of the wildest and swiftest buffalo. To draw a 
six-shooter as you gallop alongside and plant a ball 
or two back of the foreleg is an easy matter. If one, 
or even two balls, does not suffice, all you have to 
do is to stay with the horse, and keep shooting. The 
smart cow pony will keep you alongside, and take 
care of you, too, if you will only stay in the saddle. 
But for the name of the thing, one had just as well 
ride among, and shoot down cattle upon the western 
ranges. There is little difference, so far as sport 
goes. 

The winter of i860 and 1861 was a mild one. The 
sheep were very little trouble; and I had plenty of 
time for law reading. In April, Fort Sumter was 
fired upon, and my cousin and myself desiring to visit 
home, before we should leave it perhaps forever, 
started north on horseback, leaving Wiggs and 
Shooter with the sheep. 

The trip was without incident or adventure, ex- 
cept that in passing through the lead mines in South- 
west Missouri, some curious miners proposed to halt 
and strip us to see if we had not stripes upon our 
backs — a proposition they were not disposed to seri- 
ously insist upon when they found It likely to be re- 
sisted. We had heard enough of that sort of thing 



Page Sixty-Two 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

down in Texas; besides we were quite too well 
mounted and armed to be stopped and stripped upon 
an open wooded highway, in broad daylight in Old 
Missouri, by a gang of ruffian lead miners. 

To the demand to halt and dismount, my bull- 
necked cousin settled deep into his saddle, and draw- 
ing his pistol with a "smile that was child-like and 
bland," he put spurs to his mettlesome gray mare, 
and tried his best to ride over them. As I, myself, 
was on a good horse, that it had taken about all of 
my eight months' past wages to buy, I was not slow 
in following him. A few days further journeying 
brought us to Kansas City. There I, with my horse, 
took a steamboat to a point on the Illinois River, 
completing the journey on horseback to my old home 
in Central Illinois. 

My home-coming was a disappointment. War 
was in the air. To fife and drum, drilling, marching 
squadrons tramped the streets. Bugles sounded and 
cavalry camped, mustered, formed and wheeled in 
the fields, and open places about the town. Artil- 
lery was parked upon the public square, the men 
being drilled to the "manual of the piece." The call 
was to arms ! The young men were expected to go, 
and to enlist at once. To halt, stammer, and hesitate 
was to discredit oneself. 

I had been the fifer, and Captain of the Juvenile 
Marching Squad; I had also been the Foreman of 
the Boys' Fire Company that had the Hand Piano 



Page Sixty-Three 

/ GO WITH THE SHEEP 

Engine, and light hose cart that always prided itself 
at being first at a fire. After a year and a half's ab- 
sence, I had just returned from Texas, riding over- 
land both ways, and returning alone through the 
country upon my horse. It was up to me to do some- 
thing. 

After seriously considering the situation, keeping 
my own counsel, I declined one evening to stand for 
election as lieutenant in the local cavalry company; 
sold my horse the next morning, and put out for the 
Southern army, to the surprise, censure and disgust 
of my friends. 



CHAPTER FIVE 

TO THE SOUTHERN ARMY 

MY journey from within the Federal lines to 
the Southern army, while interesting to 
me, was accompanied with some rather 
disagreeable features. I this time was able 
to go all rail from my old home to Kansas City. I 
had, before starting, received a letter from the cousin 
who came North with me, expressing his determina- 
tion to go South and cast his lot with the Southern 
people. He felt as I did, that the Southern Cause 
was just, that our home was to be there, and that the 
ties of ancestry, blood and kinship should count for 
something. 

I well knew the weight and seriousness of the ques- 
tions at issue. I had heard them fully discussed by 
two able and rival candidates for the Presidency: Mr. 
Douglas and Mr. Lincoln. I had myself heard one 
of them — Mr. Lincoln — more than once say that, 
"This Government could not exist half slave and half 
free." Mr. Lincoln was now President, elected 
wholly by a sectional vote. The man next to him in 



Page Sixty- Six 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

the Government, his Secretary of State, had said, 
"The conflict was irrepressible." No one up to that 
time had suggested or advocated any plan by which 
the conflict could be amicably settled by freeing the 
slaves at the general expense, the cost falling fairly 
and equally upon all. I, of course, little thought then 
that this conflict would end only after four years of 
bloody war, with a loss of over half a million lives, 
and of many hundred millions of dollars. However, 
had I known, it would have made little difference with 
me. I, after months of deliberation, had made up 
my mind where I rightfully belonged, and I had set 
out to go there. 

I found Kansas City in the throes of disunion and 
in possession of an armed Federal force on the look- 
out for sympathizers — traitors as they already called 
them — going South. My cousin was already under 
suspicion and was not prepared to start immediately. 
I at once left the city for his farm near Pleasant Hill, 
Missouri, some thirty miles east, to wait for him. 
It was understood if he did not join me there within 
a week, I was to take the best horse on the place and 
go on without him. General Sterling Price, com- 
manding the Missouri Southern troops, was supposed 
to be somewhere on the Osage River, one hundred 
miles or so to the south. After waiting a week, 
learning my cousin was being detained by the author- 
ities In Kansas City, I took what looked to me the 
best mount on the farm and started out alone, going 
straight south, down the Missouri and Kansas line. ' 



Page Sixty-Seven 

TO THE SOUTHERN ARMY 

Partly from the late border troubles between Kan- 
sas and Missouri and partly from Guerilla bands, and 
recent conflicts between small commands of Northern 
and Southern forces, I found the entire country on 
my first days' journeyings a burned, barren, and deso- 
lated waste. Charred and blackened timbers, 
scorched and stately shade trees, marked the site of 
many a ruined home. Although a rich and formerly 
well settled country, I did not see a single inhabited 
house in my first day's ride. 

Before I got far, I found the race-like young mare 
I rode was coming quite up to her first apeparance 
and to her recommendations from the farm. So, not- 
withstanding my dreary surroundings, I was proceed- 
ing quite cheerily. The mare stepped along with her 
head up in that fast, springy walk, always so easy 
to a horse and rider. She was evidently intelligent, 
fast and fearless. With her, somehow, I did not mind 
the solitude. I never feel quite so free, so independ- 
ent, so self-sufficient, as I do when I am on a good, 
fleet horse in an open country. I had an excellent 
Spanish saddle, a light, strong lariat, a canteen, a tin 
cup, matches, pipe and smoking tobacco, a pair of 
good, heavy blankets under the saddle, two or three 
days' rations of bacon and biscuit in my haversack, 
and withal, the good six-shooter I brought from 
Texas. The hour I stopped at noonday to rest and 
to eat a biscuit, gave me opportunity to get further 
acquainted with my mare. I unsaddled and staked 
her on the grass, fired my pistol several times close 



Page Sixty-Eight 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

to her; rubbed her down, petted and talked to her. 
She grazed the full hour, losing no time, never foul- 
ing the rope, never more than looking up, when the 
pistol fired. From her demeanor, I was sure, though 
young, that I had in her a campaigner. 

All I lacked to render my equipment fairly com- 
plete was proper headgear. I had swapped the high 
tile I left the city with for a long-billed fireman's hat, 
that I wore bill foremost. This with my black city 
suit, trousers tucked in boots neatly brushed, and with 
starched shirt and cuffs (all I had) gave me, while 
all was new and shiny, a novel, jaunty air. So, an 
hour or two by sun, as, pleased with my outfit, I gayly 
jogged along, glancing back over my right shoulder, 
I saw a troop of about twenty horsemen coming my 
way in a transverse direction at a fast gallop. I and 
the mare were both all alive in an instant. The troop 
of horse was more than a half mile away and I knew 
at a glance, as there was no black cloud around them, 
they were not Federal troops (the only thing just then 
I feared to meet) . So, more to try the mare than any- 
thing else, I spurred up and let her go for several 
hundred yards, to measure speed with my transverse 
followers. When I saw I could easily run away from 
them, and that they were tacking to cross my line, I 
made no effort to increase my speed, but kept up a stiff 
pace trying to make them out, and thinking what to 
do. As they came closer, the leader waved for me 
to slack up. By way of response, I did so, keeping 



Page Sixty-Nine 

TO THE SOUTHERN ARMY 

my eye on them, being pretty well convinced they 
were a strolling band of "Jayhawkers." 

They soon struck the road I was traveling and 
turned into it, the leader, without checking his horse, 
calling to me to come alongside and report. I pulled 
up beside him and in reply to his rough query as to 
who I was, answered, "A scout." Nothing more was 
said for some little time, the mare keeping her easy 
pace with his horse, the leader and the few men that 
were up with him all the time carefully looking me 
over. My black leather, varnished fireman's hat, 
black clothes, white shirt and shiny blacked boots, 
spurs, mare and unusual outfit left them all at sea. 
Later came the question, "What are you scouting 
for?" "For the Southern Army." Then, "To what 
command do you belong?" "To no command." 
After galloping a bit further, the leader, a villainous, 
brutal looking chap, blurted out, "By God ! Stranger, 
we are an independent Southern Guerilla band, going 
to capture a damned Yankee Government train just 
ahead of us in the road. Come go along." At this, 
before I made reply, we topped a ridge, and there 
in the road before us, not two hundred yards away, 
were about a dozen two-horse, open farm wagons, a 
driver to each. With a yell and a shot or two, and 
waving pistols, the band rushed for them, almost 
stampeding the entire train; the heavy farm horses 
wheeling and upsetting in their fright one or more 
of the wagons, throwing out sacks and scattering 



Page Seventy 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

flour from the bursted ones over the road, and into 
the prairie. 

Our band finding the poor farmers unarmed, with- 
out the power or disposition to resist, made quick 
work of them, taking everything they had that was 
portable, even to their pocket knives, and their lunch 
buckets, when there was anything in them. My pro- 
test that this was no Government train was received 
with general condemnation and cuss words, and the 
assurance if I did not shut up, I would receive simi- 
lar treatment, and be left there afoot on the prairie. 
One of the riders took a sack of the flour before him 
on his horse, and the whole party galloped off across 
the prairie to some woods in sight, taking me with 
them. By the time we reached the woods, through 
which a creek ran, it was dark, and the robbers 
camped there for the night. The camp was two or 
three miles away from any road, in a wooded creek 
bottom. Around the campiire, as they, on pointed 
sticks, cooked the dough each mixed for himself by 
pouring water into the open sack and rolling the 
dough around the stick and holding it to the flames, 
a weak attempt was made to justify the robbing on 
the ground that It was Government flour being hauled 
to Fort Scott, consequently everything In the train 
was contraband of war. I took little part in the dis- 
cussion, and less in the cooking and eating. 

How I reproached myself for not galloping away 
and leaving the Jayhawkers at first sight. Or, bar- 
ring that, if, when the robbing began, I had sent a 



Page Seventy-One 

TO THE SOUTHERN ARMY 

shot or two into the bunch, and made a run for it, how 
much better I would have felt. Had a squad of Fed- 
eral cavalry galloped up on us as we were engaged in 
our depredations, something quite likely to have hap- 
pened, those that had not been shot down on the 
spot would have gone to the penitentiary for life, 
and my boyhood's martial dream "to be a soldier 
and gain a name in arms," would have come to an 
inglorious, if not a felonious, end. How I thought of 
this that night as I lay awake in the robber camp, and 
how often has the thought come to me since. 

The night was a sleepless one for me. Daylight 
found me ten miles away, grazing my good mare 
upon the prairie, taking a biscuit, a bit of bacon, and 
a cup of coffee by a little fire I built out of a bunch 
of grass, and a few di7 twigs. How good it was after 
bad company, my ride and a long fast. I had taken 
off the bridle and loosened the girths, not unsaddling, 
keeping half an eye behind me. I had no notion of 
being again come up with by anyone of the party I 
had left — not that I was uneasy except upon the 
mare's account. Too many of the men had wanted 
to trade for her; had looked her over quite too closely 
to please me, the leader amongst others. Getting 
away was no difficult matter. No guards were out. 
Two or three hours before day, when the fires were 
low and the camp asleep, I quietly saddled the mare, 
mounted and walked her away. Never again during 
the whole war when I was alone did a party of men 



Page Seventy-Two 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

ride up to me, or I to them, until I knew who, or 
what, they were. 

After breakfast, I jogged along, from every ridge 
top scanning the surrounding country for signs of life. 
I made a halt at noon to rest and graze the mare, this 
time unsaddling. After a bit of lunch and a cat-nap 
taken with the lariat in my hand, knowing the mare 
would give notice if anyone approached, I saddled 
up and journeyed on, hoping to meet some one who 
could give me directions as to General Sterling Price's 
army. The country I was riding through was a de- 
serted border between Kansas and Missouri, and, 
for the time, a kind of no-man's land. For that rea- 
son it suited me well just then to journey in it. Far- 
ther east was General Sigel's command, following 
Price's army; General Price retiring before him, ac- 
companied and encumbered by hundreds of Missouri 
Southern families, with their all, fleeing into Arkan- 
sas and Texas under the protection of General Price's 
army. General Price was too much encumbered, and 
had too much at stake to stop and give battle until the 
convoyed were in friendly territory, and he was joined 
by the Arkansas and Texas troops then on their way 
to meet him. 

General Price was then the father of the entire 
Southern element in Missouri; and was beloved as 
such ; every one, soldiers included, even that early call- 
ing him "Old Pap." His encampment, as I soon 
found, was at night more like a big camp-meeting 
than the camp of any army corps. A thousand fires 



Page Seventy-Three 

TO THE SOUTHERN ARMY 

blazed. Covered moving wagons, carriages, bug- 
gies, women, children, cows, dogs and negro servants 
were about these camp fires, cooking, eating, sleeping. 
On all of our retreat, after I joined General Price, 
the roads were so blocked with these moving emi- 
grants and their retinues that it took us three or four 
hours every evening and every morning to get in and 
out of camp, nearly one-half of our marching hours 
being consumed in Avaiting at the roadside. The rail 
fences made a continuous string of fires to keep the 
half-clad men from chilling to death in the rain, snow 
and cold of a most bitter winter. 

To get into a more inhabited country and to learn, 
if possible, something of the Southern Army's where- 
abouts, after lunch I veered more eastward, bearing 
off from the deserted border. About four or five 
o'clock in the afternoon, I overtook a good, honest 
Missouri farmer driving about a half dozen beef cat- 
tle to Price's army to save them from marauders, or 
the Federals, and to convert them into Confederate 
scrip, which he (in his patriotic heart) thought as 
good as gold. I was so rejoiced to be once more 
among honest cattle, and in good, wholesome com- 
pany, that I was glad to fall in and help him drive 
his beeves. His name, after all these years I well 
remember, was Maddox, and he was a good, straight, 
whole-souled Missourian. We were together for four 
or five days, at the end of which time we overtook 
Price's army, some hundred miles south of the Osage 
River. After falling in with this good company I 



Page Seventy-Four 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

fared well. Mr. Maddox was alone, with little more 
equipment than I had. He had two or three blank- 
ets under his saddle and a sack of provisions tied 
behind it. The weather chanced to be fine, so we 
camped together on the prairie, staked out our sad- 
dle horses, and did well enough. When he turned 
over his cattle, and got from the quartermaster his 
worthless scrip, we parted with mutual reluctance; 
he to return to his home in a desolated land, and I to 
see if I could find one single friend in all that vast 
army, for vast it then seemed to me. 

There was but one man in this whole army, so far 
as I knew, that I had ever seen or heard of. So, after 
saying farewell to my good friend of a short week's 
acquaintance, I set out on my mare to hunt him up. 
My cousin had told me that John Murray, who had 
clerked in the same store with him in Kansas City, 
had gone with Colonel Rosser's Missouri regiment 
(raised in and about Kansas City and Westport) as 
sergeant-major. I knew Murray, and he well knew 
who I was. Inquiring for Colonel Rosser, then com- 
manding a brigade, I soon found his command, and 
Murray. I stayed with John Murray that night, ex- 
plained to him my situation, told him I wanted to at- 
tach myself temporarily to Price's army — until we 
met the Texas troops, then take a transfer to the 
First Texas Artillery, which my former friend who 
lived close to our sheep ranch had written me, had 
been raised in Dallas county, Texas. I preferred the 



Page Seventy-Five 

TO THE SOUTHERN ARMY 

artillery because I knew a little of artillery drill. 
Murray arranged all nicely for me. 

Early the next morning, he rode over with me to 
Captain Lucas, who commanded a Missouri light 
battery of four brass, smooth-bore six-pounders. He 
introduced me to the captain, who was a friend of 
Murray, told him who I was, my wishes, and so 
forth. The captain took me in, allowed me to keep 
and ride my mare, put me in a mess, and promptly 
assigned me to a post of duty at one of the guns. 

With this battery, I saw quite a little service be- 
fore our reinforcements from the South joined us at 
Elkhorn — Pea Ridge as it was called by the Federals. 
With sometime an infantry and sometime a cavalry 
support, Lucas' light battery was almost daily en- 
gaged in aiding to check and delay the enemy's ad- 
vance. General Price's withdrawal from Missouri 
to unite his forces with the other trans-Mississippi 
troops then in the field, encumbered as he was, was 
necessarily slow. We were almost the entire winter 
going little more than two hundred miles. When the 
Federal advance was too insistent, a light battery or 
two, well posted on wooded hills, with an apparently 
strong supporting force drawn up in line of battle — 
the guns opening with a lively bombardment, when 
any considerable force pressed too close — would 
check the enemy's advance sometimes for days. Dur- 
ing all of this time, I saw a good deal of artillery 
service, without being in anything like a general en- 
gagement. So, by the time we met our Southern al- 



Page Seventy- Six 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

lies at Cross Hollows In Arkansas, I felt quite like a 
veteran. Cross Hollows was in the immediate vicin- 
ity of Elkhorn, or Pea Ridge. Here was fought the 
first big battle west of the Mississippi, within less 
than a week after the Southern forces came together. 
Here I obtained a transfer to the First Texas Artil- 
lery without so much as first going to see them — Gen- 
eral Slack commanding the division to which Lucas' 
battery was attached giving me the order. As soon 
as I obtained it, I started on the mare to find (Good's 
Battery) the First Texas Artillery, not a man of 
which, so far as I knew, had I ever seen or heard of. 
However, they were from Dallas county, Texas, 
where I had read law and wintered with the sheep; 
and as the mare clipped it at her running walk 
through the woods, I felt that I was going home. 

General Ben McCulloch was in command of the 
Texans, and I rode eight miles before I reached his. 
camp. When I rode up to his tent, the General was 
seated at the door of it, with a black velvet suit on. 
When his orderly handed him my transfer, he read 
it, rose from his chair, put on his broad-brimmed 
military hat (in color matching his suit), one side 
looped up with a gilded star, and stepping forward, 
he quietly directed me to the battery. General Mc- 
Culloch impressed me as no army man ever had. His 
strong face, tall figure, looped black hat, gleaming 
star, black velvet suit, high cavalry boots, polished 
to the very tops above his knees, and his gilded spurs, 



Page Seventy-Seven 

TO THE SOUTHERN ARM Y 

matching his star in brilliancy, gave him a knightly 
and picturesque appearance that I can never forget. 
After leaving General McCulloch's tent I soon 
found the battery. As I rode up, I looked anything 
but presentable. I still had the fireman's hat, my 
boots had long before been stolen from under my 
head as I slept, and my black suit was dirty, ragged 
and torn. When the captain had read my transfer, 
and looked me over, I saw it was a question whether 
I would be taken in, even after he had heard my 
story. He, however, said he was a bit particular as 
to who should join his battery, but that I could get 
down and turn in with the boys and he would take me 
for a few days on probation. Before the few days 
were out a team brought ammunition for the guns, 
something they had never had before' — and the next 
morning an order came to "Send one gun immediately 
to the front, the whole battery to follow later." 
There was excitement in the company. They had 
been well trained in battalion drill, with the horses 
hitched to the guns, with empty gun limbers, and 
empty caissons. The several detachments knew well, 
too, the manual of the piece. They could at the 
command: "Walk," "trot," "gallop," "wheel," (go) 
"into battery," "unlimber," "limber up," "limber 
to the front," and "limber to the rear," and do it all 
right enough; and when unlimbered, they could at 
the commands "load," "ready," "aim," "fire," do that 
too all right, or pretend to. But there was in fact 
not a man in the battery that had ever seen a gun 



Page Seventy-Eight 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

in action, or that had ever loaded and fired or helped 
to load and fire one. As the gun had to go imme- 
diately, as boots and saddles had already sounded, I 
suppose I came into the captain's mind and he at once 
sent for me. After a word or two, he told me to 
consider myself an enlisted man, and for the time 
being, chief of piece number three, and for me to go 
w^ith the lieutenant and the detachment to the front. 



CHAPTER SIX 

IN THE ARMY 

I was now regularly in the Confederate Army, 
and in obedience to the captain's order, I 
mounted my horse and with the lieutenant gal- 
loped away, passing the Elk Horn Tavern in 
a run, halting three or four hundred yards in 
front of it. It was there I saw General Ben McCul- 
loch for the second time. He here rode up, say- 
ing to the lieutenant that a shot from our gun quickly 
repeated at regular intervals was intended as the sig- 
nal for the attack for both General Price and his own 
forces, and that we were already late. At this he 
rode up to our gun and directed we should plant it 
on the dividing line between a large open prairie on 
our left and the stretch of woods upon our right. The 
General then pointed out the two or three points of 
timber jutting out into the prairie at which he wished 
us to first direct our fire, instructing us to throw two 
or three round shot or shells into each, explaining 
that he had reason to think they concealed masked 
batteries. 



Page Eighty 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

We at once opened fire as directed. After a shot 
or two from our gun, several thousand Indians, un- 
der General Albert Pike, from the Indian Territory, 
rushed past us in the open prairie to our left in a 
helter-skelter charge, every Indian for himself, 
whooping and yelling at the top of his voice, going 
fast to the front at top speed, not an enemy in sight. 
Soon, Federal battery after battery opened from the 
several points of timber at which I had been direct- 
ing our fire from a single gun. As soon as they could 
check up and turn, back came every one of General 
Pike's five thousand Indians, faster than they 
advanced, in a wild stampede to the rear. 

We had plenty of time to look over this prairie 
field after all of our ammunition was exhausted. I 
saw several dead horses, but if there was a single dead 
or wounded Indian left upon the field I failed to see 
him. As the Indians would rush by us in their wild 
stampede, they would holler: "Ump! White man 
shoot wagon!" Meantime all of the enemy's guns 
concentrated their fire upon our battery, the other five 
of our guns having by this time joined us and opened 
up. 

From this artillery fire we suffered severely. My 
own gun losing ten of its twelve horses and four of 
its seven men, and having its caisson blown up. As 
the Federal batteries continued their fire from their 
original positions, making no effort to advance, If 
we had an infantry or cavalry support, I never saw 
it. So, as we got no order from any source, after 



Page Eighty-One 

IN THE ARMY 

firing away our last round of ammunition, our bat- 
tery camped for the night in the woods close to the 
Elk Horn Tavern. The next day, being wholly 
without ammunition for our guns, we proceeded to 
make our way through the mountains, where, after 
four or five days, wholly without rations, we came 
out near Fayetteville, Arkansas; the men subsisting 
wholly upon the little shelled corn we chanced to 
have left in the feed bags intended for the horses. 

We kept in the mountains with our guns and 
empty caissons, slowly making our way without roads, 
fearing if we sought the roads we might meet some 
armed force of the enemy and with no support lose 
our guns and as we felt our honor with them, hav- 
ing in mind the Ancient Matron's injunction to her 
son, to return' from the battle with his shield or 
upon it. 

I know nothing of the Battle of Elkhorn (Pea 
Ridge, as the Federals called it), except what passed 
under my own personal observation. How little that 
would be, every subaltern and private knows who has 
been in a battle. To them, everybody and ever}' com- 
mand they meet seems lost or on the hunt of the lost. 
General McCulloch commanded our left, having 
under him the Arkansas and Texas regiments, each 
regiment under the command of its colonel, and all 
gallant troops, as was proven upon that and many a 
battlefield afterwards. General Albert Pike, formerly 
of Arkansas and an eminent and distinguished 
American, already bearing high Masonic, educational 



Page Eighty-Two 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

and other civic honors, had raised and in this battle 
commanded the Indian Territory forces, consisting 
(as I was told) of some five thousand cavalry. 

I infer from General McCuUoch's own words that 
the plan of the battle was for him to open it in force 
on the left, with the single signal gun firing a few 
shots one after the other in quick succession. This 
to be followed, no doubt, by a general advance and 
attack of our forces both on the right and the left. 
When we opened with our gun. General McCulloch 
turned and rode away into the woods towards our 
right, and so far as I know he was never seen or heard 
of alive by any of his troops afterwards. 

Soon after our gun opened; and before the bat- 
teries in our front replied, there was heavy firing in 
the woods to our right, and it grew heavier and 
heavier till nightfall. After General Pike's misad- 
venture with his Indian cavalry, there was no ad- 
vance upon our front. Every colonel, evidently wait- 
ing for the orders to advance that never came. Then 
the colonels, like old hounds that hear the music of 
the opening pack in the woods, followed by their men 
in marching column, moved to our right, where the 
heavy firing was heard. 

After we began firing, staff ofl^cers and courier 
after courier would gallop up and inquire of the lieu- 
tenant, who sat his horse by my gun, for General Mc- 
Culloch. All received the same answer and galloped 
off. Finally, after my gun had fired the fifty rounds 
In its limber, a thing it was no great while in doing, 



Page Eighty-Three 

IN THE ARMY 

Its Other one hundred and fifty rounds in the caisson 
being exploded by the enemy's shell — as myself and 
the two men left alive and the lieutenant stood by the 
smoking and cooling gun, along came Colonel T. J. 
Churchill, commanding an Arkansas regiment, and 
at the same time up rode General Albert Pike, both 
in full Confederate uniform, — not common that early 
\uth us, — and both looking splendidly to me. The 
General rode a large fine horse and he was himself 
tall, stately and distinguished looking. 

It was, however, the little Arkansas Colonel, erect 
upon his rather undersized thoroughbred that filled 
my eye, and that I could have hugged, yelled and 
screamed over, after I heard what he said to General 
Pike. I give their words as near as I can after fifty 
years remember them. As the Colonel rode up he 
said: 

"General Pike, Where is General McCulloch?" 

"I think. Colonel, he must be dead upon the field; 
he cannot be found or heard from; and fearing the 
day Is lost, I have ordered our troops to retire." 

"To retire? General Price seems to be holding his 
own upon the right, so I shall take my regiment and 
go to him." 

At this the gallant Arkansas Colonel galloped to 
the head of his regiment and looking the veritable 
Pan Michel that Henry Sienkiewicz writes about, and 
every Inch a soldier, he with them in column disap- 
peared in the woods to our right. 

It was to this, General Churchill, then second in 



Page Eighty-Four 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

command of the Trans-Mississippi Department, I was 
glad to take a letter of introduction at the surrender 
of General Joseph E. Johnston's army three years 
later. 

From Fayetteville, Arkansas, we moved on to Des 
Arc on White River. There our battery with all its 
belongings took a steamboat down White River and 
up the Mississippi, landing at Memphis. There I 
had the misfortune to lose my mare. The river gnats 
in the bottom at Memphis, covering her in such 
swarms, and penetrating and settling in her nostrils, 
so that she in a day or two died of fever. 

Our next battle was at Richmond, Kentucky, where 
I again, as it happened, under General E. Kirby 
Smith's eye, and under his personal direction, had the 
honor of firing the first big gun, again the signal for 
the general attack. That came about in this way ; 
Our captain — the first lieutenant when I joined the 
battery, and a warm personal friend of mine by this 
time — commanding the entire artillery battalion of 
General E. Kirby Smith's corps, was asked to send a 
gun forward, that could throw a shell into a big barn 
in plain sight upon a hill about one thousand yards 
away, — supposed to be General Nelson's (who com- 
manded the Federal army) headquarters. Realizing 
what was expected, I took a spirit-level, and with a 
spade sunk one of the wheels until the gun carriage 
was perfectly level. I then selected and put in the 
shell a fuse cut to explode at one thousand yards, had 



Page Eighty-Five 

IN THE ARMY 

it placed in the gun, elevated it for the distance, 
sighted it; and gave the command to fire, and at the 
discharge I had the good fortune to be able to watch 
the shell in its flight and see it strike the roof and 
explode inside, raising a cloud of dust and smoke and 
causing a general exit from the building. What the 
effect of the explosion was I never inquired, not want- 
ing to know. 

At Richmond, our battery again suffered severely. 
Here our first lieutenant, a most gallant young officer, 
as he sat his horse between the two guns of my sec- 
tion, which he commanded, lost both of his legs high 
above the knees, from a cannonball that instantly 
killed both him and his horse. At this Battle of 
Richmond, Kentucky, the Confederates gained the 
most complete little victory of the war, driving the 
Federals across the Ohio River and killing General 
Nelson, the commanding officer, and capturing some 
four or five thousand prisoners. General E. Kirby 
Smith, with his victorious division, followed the de- 
moralized and vanquished Union army to the Ohio; 
there, under pre-emptory orders from his ranking 
officer. General Braxton Bragg, he began a retreat, 
just why we never could understand, as we had been 
everywhere victorious. 

The next battle in which our battery took part was 
that of Murfreesboro. This was one of the big bat- 
tles of the war, though not a very decisive one. Our 
loss was estimated at about eleven thousand men, the 
Federal loss about fourteen thousand. It was a hard 



Page Eighty-Six 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

fought battle, lasting three days in mid-winter. The 
first day our troops on the left, with which was our 
battery, swept everything before them. General 
Rosecrans, however (who, by this time had succeeded 
Buell), one of the craftiest generals of the Union 
army, rallied his troops and held his own upon the 
second and third days, making it a drawn battle. 
Bragg retiring slowly, Rosecrans holding the battle- 
ground, but too badly crippled to pursue. On the 
field of Murfrecsboro I witnessed the real horrors 
of war. At the end of the first day our victorious 
troops rested for the night upon their arms in the 
woods just where darkness overtook them. Our ad- 
vance had been so rapid the entire day and the Fed- 
eral retreat so hurried, that the dead and wounded 
upon their right wing had been left on the field where 
they fell. The night was bitter cold, and the cries of 
the wounded and dying were heard all around us dur- 
ing the entire night. So great were their numbers 
the infirmary corps with their moving lights being 
wholly inadequate to administer the much needed aid 
to one-fourth of them. As we rode at daylight up 
the road to water our artillery horses before putting 
them to our guns, long lines of dead Federals lined 
each side of the road. They lay upon their backs, 
touching each other, being carried there in the night 
for removal and burial by the wagons. It was a most 
ghastly sight. 

After Murfreesboro, Bragg fell back south and 
our battery was in camp for more than six months in 



Page Eighty-Seven 

IN THE ARM Y 

and about Shelbyville, Tennessee. There we had a 
long six months' rest. 

After this, came the big Battle of Chickamauga, 
where we lost about seventeen thousand men, the 
Union army a few more than that. These desperate 
battles and our large losses were sadly depleting our 
forces. We were gaining no recruits, while the Union 
losses were being more than made good; Hooker 
coming from the Potomac, and Grant's and Sher- 
man's forces from the West after the fall of Vicks- 
burg. Five of the great Union generals of the war 
were now confronting Bragg's army : Grant, Thomas, 
Sherman, Hooker and Burnside. Bragg had lost 
over twenty-seven thousand men in his last two bat- 
tles. Although our depleted army was now strongly 
fortified on Lookout Mountain and Missionary 
Ridge, the result was inevitable. An overwhelming 
force assaulted and carried our works. Our battery 
was stationed on Missionary Ridge. Here I received 
a slight wound, the filrst and only one during the en- 
tire war. It was, however, not serious enough to 
cause me to leave my post at the gun. Our battery 
was stationed on the right. Our works had not been 
carried or very heavily assailed, so when we received 
the order to retire our guns, we could hardly under- 
stand it. From Lookout Mountain and Missionary 
Ridge, General Bragg continued to fall back through 
Georgia until he was succeeded by General Joseph E. 
Johnston. 

We were now in the third year of the war, Sher- 



Page Eighty-Eight 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

man slowly following and paralleling Joseph E. 
Johnston, each building breastworks as they moved 
in close proximity to each other, after the siege and 
fall of Atlanta. A rattling, straggling fire was kept 
up night and day, with an occasional futile sally by 
Sherman, he never daring to attempt a general at- 
tack. We were night and day in the trenches close 
up to our breastworks, consequently, although the 
straggling tiring for weeks never ceased, our loss was 
comparatively nothing. More than that, we were 
v^ery little disturbed. General Johnston's system was 
so complete and perfect, we never missed a meal, or 
our artillery horses a feed. 

I had now been with the artillery for almost three 
years, never in all that time missing roll-call, camp- 
guard, or any battle in which my command took part. 
I had never so much as asked for leave of absence 
or a furlough, nor had I ever been away from the 
command for a single day. At the Battle of Elkhorn 
I had been temporarily put in command of one of the 
guns, and although I was not even a non-commis- 
sioned officer, this gun was never taken from me. 

When General Joseph E. Johnston was succeeded 
by General Hood, — because he was too much of a 
general under the circumstances to assume the aggres- 
sive, — a well-nigh forgotten event worked quite a 
change in my army relations. Something like a year 
prior to General Hood's succeeding General Johnston, 
as I one morning rode beside my captain, we saw on 
a hill ahead of us the village of Camargo, in Missis- 



Page Eighty-Nine 

IN THE ARMY 

sippl. As both the captain and myself were out of 
smoking tobacco, I remarked I would ride ahead and 
procure some. Our command was then attached for 
the time being to General Cabell's Arkansas Division, 
and we were on the route march, three hundred miles 
from the enemy. General Cabell had, as is usual, 
issued a general order that all should march with their 
commands. After buying my tobacco, as I sat upon 
my horse waiting for the battery to come up, the 
General with his staff rode by and noticing my artil- 
lery colors he had me arrested and put in charge of 
the provost's guard, dismounting me and sending my 
horse back to the battery. The General preferred 
charges against me for the violation of the general 
order requiring all troops to march with their com- 
mands, and I was court-martialed and of course con- 
victed, the General appearing and testifying. 

Upon the advice of my captain, I put in a written 
defense, giving the history of my connection with the 
army, service in it, etc., etc., something like I give 
here but briefer, of course. I was convicted by the 
court, but the penalty, instead of being a disgraceful 
one, such as they too often then inflicted upon pri- 
vates, was "reduction to the ranks." This was really 
in my case no penalty at all. I had always been in 
the ranks. Every officer on the court, — after its ad- 
journment, however, — signed a recommendation for 
my promotion, at my captain's solicitation no doubt, 
he signing with them. 

What I feared about the court-martial was some 



Page Ninety 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

disgraceful punishment. Nothing was more common 
in our army than to punish privates who had strag- 
gled away from their commands on the march, by 
requiring them to wear a barrel shirt duly placarded 
every evening on the parade ground during dress pa- 
rade. It was the fear of something like this that in- 
duced me to put in the written defense. The provost 
guard always had a lot of arrested men when they 
were on the road, marching along in the dust and dirt 
on foot, sleeping at night under guard like convicts, 
until they reached a permanent camp, at which time 
by a court-martial or otherwise, their offense would 
be disposed of and they punished if guilty and sent 
back to their commands. The arrest of itself was 
humiliating, as this provost band was always rather 
a disgraceful looking body. 

My arrest and confinement for more than a week 
marching each day miles and miles on foot in the dust 
and dirt with this gang was about as much as I could 
stand. Realizing that I must be convicted of the 
general charge if court-martialed, and probably dis- 
graced by the punishment that would ensue, I was 
quite worked up over it, and I had made up my mind 
if a disgraceful punishment such as they frequently 
administered was imposed upon me, I would leave 
the army, and take my chance of being shot for it; 
a chance by the way I cared little about, for I knew 
well what I could do on a good horse on a dark night 
towards getting away. Besides, a soldier who so 
often must risk his life for his cause and his country, 



Page Ninety-One 

IN THE ARMY 

is not going to hesitate to risk it to escape disgrace, 
and I did not hesitate to tell my captain how I felt 
about it and I had all the time his full sympathy, A 
barrel shirt is nothing more than an empty barrel, 
with a hole cut in the bottom large enough to go over 
the head and a hole cut in each side large enough to 
run the arms through. The barrel is inverted and 
put over the head, the arms are run through the arm- 
let holes and the culprit, accompanied usually with a 
fifer and a drummer, is marched back and forth dur- 
ing dress parade, as I have before said. It was be- 
cause I feared this I was so much exercised over Gen- 
eral Cabell's charge, my arrest, and his appearance 
as the only witness, before the court-martial. Of 
course, when I heard the penalty, as it was really no 
punishment, I thought of the matter no more and it 
had been well nigh forgotten. 

About a year after this, when General Hood suc- 
ceeded to the command of the Army of Tennessee, 
at midnight a courier rode up to our battery with an 
order for me to report at General Headquarters in 
the morning. I was, of course, greatly surprised and 
at once saddled my horse and reported to General 
Hood's headquarters with the courier that was sent 
for me. At headquarters, I met Adjutant-General 
Lee (Hood's adjutant-general). It was very early 
in the morning, the adjutant had not even breakfasted 
when he came out from his tent and met me. He 
asked if I was the man that was court-martialed. On 
replying in the affirmative, he told me that his atten- 



Page Ninety-Two 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

tlon had been called to my court-martial and my writ- 
ten defense that had been forwarded with it, and 
that he had sent for me to advise me that the General 
would recommend me for promotion, asking what 
particular branch of the service I would prefer. I, 
at General Hood's headquarters, found a second cou- 
sin from Arkansas, a lieutenant; whom I had never 
seen. He was Assistant Adjutant-General, and he no 
doubt had called his principal's attention to my court- 
martial and my defense. 

Just at this time General Ben Hill (of McMinn- 
ville, Tenn.), a gallant officer that I knew person- 
ally, and whose brigade had more than once sup- 
ported our battery, took me in hand, he being then on 
General Hood's staff, acting as Provost-General of 
the Army, and he told me to take an order to report 
to him, that he had been ordered by General Hood to 
call in all of the cavalry companies and battalions 
that were on post duty and reorganize them into Con- 
federate regiments, with the view of preceding Gen- 
eral Hood's Army in its advance. General Hill said 
to me that if I would take the order to report to him 
he would put me in command of the first Confederate 
regiment he formed. When I replied I did not know 
the cavalry drill, his reply was: "Battalion drill is 
the same in all branches of the service." "You are 
necessarily familiar with that as an artilleryman." 
This satisfied me, so I was glad to take an order to 
report to General Hill, and did so. As soon as I re- 
turned from ninety days of special service, I was 



Page Ninety-Three 

IN THE ARMY 

placed in command of the i6th Confederate Regi- 
ment of Cavalry, and ordered at once into camp to 
receive companies and battalions as they reported and 
at the regular organization of the regiment, — which 
was by election, — I was elected Colonel. As that made 
me the senior officer of the brigade, I remained in 
command of the camp until other regiments were or- 
ganized, then with General Hill, we started in ad- 
vance of General Hood's army into Tennessee. 

So, by the fortunes of war, and a court-martial, at 
length I scrambled from the ranks into the line. My 
first duties as an officer began when I was sent in com- 
pany with one hundred other volunteer officers from 
the Texas and Missouri Brigade to General Sher- 
man's rear, to interrupt and break, if possible, his 
railroad line of communication with his base. This 
service was filled with incident and adventure, which 
I will not undertake to narrate here, although more 
than one of the adventures of some of our officers de- 
serve almost to rank with the exploits of Brigadier 
General Gerard, of whom so much has been written. 

Regiments composing the Texas and Missouri bri- 
gades in the army of Tennessee, at the time of which 
I write, had become depleted to mere skeletons. As 
official company vacancies were always kept filled by 
prompt promotion from the ranks, there were dozens 
of companies in these brigades that had as many offi- 
cers as men. When that formidable infantry weapon 
— the long-range gun with its bayonet — was ex- 



Page Ninety-Four 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

changed for the sword, the fighting strength of the 
regiment was greatly diminished. The surplus offi- 
cers, with their light swords — where there were no 
men to command — were practically useless. Realiz- 
ing this. General Hood, when he took command of 
this Army of Tennessee, called for one hundred vol- 
unteer officers from these brigades for special service 
within the enemy's lines. Thf full number promptly 
reported, and as I was then awaiting assignment to 
duty, I was sent with them. We were mounted on 
condemned artillery horses, and sent to operate within 
the enemy's lines. We were expected to act Independ- 
ently, and in squads, or altogether when the occasion 
demanded. We all wore our uniforms so that we 
could not be treated as spies. We were instructed to 
mount ourselves upon the best horses obtainable as 
soon as we were outside of the limits of the camp, 
by exchanging therefor some old condemned artil- 
lery horses, upon which we were temporarily 
mounted. We were instructed to pay a liberal boot in 
Confederate Scrip. This order was strictly obeyed. 
We remained within our own lines for a few days, 
and until we had fair mounts. Many a plaintive wail 
went up from fair ladies, when we would stop their 
carriage team upon the public streets and go to horse 
trading. We would take one horse — the best usually 
— and have the dusky coachman unharness him and 
put in his place one of our old condemned artillery 
horses. We were obstinate, but gallant. We never 
took more than one from the same carriage however 



Page Ninety-Five 

IN THE ARMY 

much we wanted both. Within a week, we were 
fairly mounted and well within the enemy's lines. 
Later, after we had further opportunities for trading. 
I think we were the best mounted command in the 
service. Before I was through the campaign, I had 
the best mare I ever saw, but I did not trade for her. 
We made our rallying point, a rendezvious in the 
woods, a few miles from Hickory Flats, in North 
Georgia. Hickory Flats was but a cross-road, where 
there\'as formerly a store. It was about eighteen 
miles from the railroad upon which we were ex- 
pected to operate. Our orders were to tear up, capture, 
and run trains off the track, and do all we could to 
obstruct, and prevent, if possible, the running of the 
trains over the road. To facilitate the work, we had 
short pieces of iron rail hammered and fitted and sent 
us from Augusta, Georgia. These we could, by draw- 
ing a railroad spike, securely fit to the track, making 
a kind of switch. A man on horseback could carry one 
of these rails before him on his saddle without being 
materially inconvenienced. We had a light iron coup- 
ling to fasten the two short rails together, when spiked 
to the track. Three men with these Instruments, could 
in ten minutes fit them to the iron rails in front of an 
advancing train and run it off. Its capture and de- 
struction was then an easy matter, if we had men 
enough and time enough. For this, especially for the 
capture of an important train, we always employed 
our entire force if it was at hand or to be had. We 
only attempted a general holdup once in a while, and 



Page Ninety- Six 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

never twice In the same place. We always selected 
a point where the railroad ran through dense woods ; 
so the men could be concealed near by and our horses 
hidden under guard in the woods. We confined our- 
selves to the enemy's officers and soldiers, and their 
property, and articles contraband of war; and made- 
some rich hauls — once capturing a part of the money 
sent down to pay off General Sherman's army. A 
Yankee trick, however, prevented our profiting much 
by this capture; for we consumed about all the time 
we had to work, in opening the iron safe to find it 
empty, or nearly so. The money was all in the ordi- 
nary mail bags, thrown as usual in the bottom of the 
car. One of our men chanced to carry off one of the 
bags, thinking the leather would make him a good 
pair of boots. When we got a half mile away where 
the horses were hidden, he cut the bag open, poured 
the contents on the fire, took the empty bag and gal- 
loped away with it after the command. 

It chanced, as he poured the contents of the mail 
sack upon the fire, he noticed the mail was all in of- 
ficial envelopes and he gathered up a handful of these 
as he rode off, sticking one or two of them into his 
own pocket and distributing the balance to one or 
two of his companions. When at daylight, twenty 
miles away, the envelopes were opened, all were found 
to contain greenback money. Imagine the general 
disgust when this was discovered. When the little 
group that had the money refused to divide, cuss 
words filled the air. But as the amount saved was not 



Page Ninety-Seven 

IN THE ARMY 

large — only a few thousand dollars — beyond hard 
feelings, nothing came of it. As before said, our 
general rendezvous was in the woods near Hickory 
Flats, Georgia, some twenty miles off the railroad. It 
was but a camp in the woods, no tents, no baggage, 
no anything. Sometimes vacant, and sometimes with 
but two or three occupants. We moved every few 
days to some other point near by in the woods, relying 
for our safety upon the remoteness and security of our 
hiding places. We rarely put out pickets, even at 
night, as our movements and whereabouts were al- 
ways kept secret. The exact location of the camp 
was known only to the occupants at the time ; and the 
lady members of a prominent Southern family at the 
Flats. All the men folks of this family were usually 
away in the army. Our own absentees could always 
ascertain our location from our lady friends of the 
family at Hickory Flats. We trusted no one else. 
The women, with an old colored servant or two, ran 
the place. These women were Southern heroines. 
They were our staunch friends. The two young la- 
dies of the family enacted for us more than one heroic 
deed. They one night saved our camp from surprise 
and destruction. At midnight upon one occasion a 
Federal cavalry regiment galloped up to their house, 
halted and questioned them for a moment and passed 
on. From what the Federals let fall, and from the 
guide they had, the ladies were sure they knew our 
location. The two young ladies (a daughter and a 
niece) at once rushed to the horse lot, saddled a horse 



Page Ninety-Eight 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

each, and wholly unattended, galloped through the 
woods in the dark, and five minutes before we heard 
the enemy's approach, alarmed our sleeping camp. 

We were up at once, every man buckling on his 
arms, gathering his blankets and runing for his horse. 
As we were outnumbered more than ten to one, we 
quickly saddled, and, after the ladies, we disappeared 
in the woods. 

These two young ladies upon another occasion, 
without a moment's hesitation, at the risk of their 
own, saved the lives of Captain Wickes and Lieut. 
Robb of our command. One day, as they all sat to- 
gether upon the front veranda, a troop of Federal 
cavalry suddenly appeared at the front fence, less 
than forty yards from the house, and covering the 
officers with a dozen guns demanded their surrender. 
The two officers jumped to their feet, made for the 
passage, rushed to their horses tied in the woods at 
the rear, and made their escape, the two young ladies 
covering their retreat by standing and blocking the 
narrow exit so the soldiers could not fire, wholly 
disregarding their shouts to stand aside, or they would 
shoot them. 

After these and other brave feats, to say that half 
of the command were in love with them is to put it 
mildly. Years after the war, without meantime hear- 
ing a word from or of them, I chanced to meet them 
in Texas — both happily married. One is now living 
with her family close by where I have a cattle ranch. 

Within a month after we began our operations 



Page Ninety-Nine 

IN THE ARMY 

upon the railroad, all except day trains were discon- 
tinued, and these were run at almost a snail's pace. 
Troops of cavalry were stationed at frequent places 
along the line, and there was an infantry command 
stationed every five miles, soldiers from which pa- 
trolled every foot of the road fifteen minutes in ad- 
vance of every train. It was soon impossible for us 
to do much. We, however, kept at it and continued 
our scouting, thereby keeping the Federal troops well 
within their lines, thus greatly protecting Southern 
families and their property. 

The Federal authorities placarded us everywhere, 
declaring that if captured we would not be treated 
as ordinary prisoners of war; but that all of Hill's 
men would be speedily court-martialed and shot. 
This was a bit of "bravado to which, of course, we 
paid no serious attention. Several of our officers were 
taken after we were so published, but in all cases they 
were treated as other prisoners of war. In fact, two 
of my own scouting companions were taken one night 
soon after we had been so publicly placarded. They 
M'^ere making a most daring foray into the very cen- 
ter of the enemy's camp at Marietta, Georgia, after 
horses, when there were at least five thousand Fed- 
eral soldiers encamped in the town at the time. 

The circumstances of this foray were these: Lieu- 
tenant Jackson of St. Louis had seen when scouting 
one day several carloads of cavalry horses on the 
train destined for the troops at Marietta. As his own 
mount was not very good, he declared he meant to 



Page One Hundred 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

slip the guards on foot that night, and get him a good 
horse. There was a light moon, so taking his bridle, 
notwithstanding efforts to dissuade him, he set out 
with two other officers similarly equipped, that he 
had persuaded at the last moment to go with him. 
The names of the others have for the time escaped 
me. One lived at McKinney, Texas. I met him 
there years afterwards, when together we talked over 
war events. Our scouting camp for the night was in 
the woods, only a mile or so from the enemy's out- 
ward picket. 

The outside picket was three miles from Marietta, 
the next about two miles, and the other about one 
mile; then came the various infantry guards all the 
way to the stock pens near the railroad depot in the 
center of the town where the horses were. 

We had about given the foraying party up, when 
we heard distant firing — the bang, bang, of only one 
or two guns — then, in a minute or two, the bang, 
bang, bang of a few more guns. After a few mo- 
ments more, there came another shot, then a volley 
from the first mounted picket, then one from the sec- 
ond, and last quite a volley from the advanced pickets, 
followed by the sound of a fast galloping horse upon 
the hard turnpike road. Soon after the last firing, 
Jackson mounted bareback upon a big dark iron-gray 
horse, rode at a walk into the light of the campfire 
and shd from his back, the intelligent animal breath- 
ing heavily but standing quietly at his side, his head 
touching Jackson, as much as to say: "Well done 



Page One Hundred One 

IN THE ARM Y 



for both of us." The other two officers we never 
heard from until weeks afterwards. Both were cap- 
tured and sent away as prisoners of war. How Jack- 
son escaped was a wonder, as he had to ride through 
the infantry camp guards and three lines of mounted 
pickets on the open road. All of them, from the first 
being on the lookout and waiting for him. 

Another of Jackson's exploits comes to me here, 
and I will narrate it. Jackson and myself, upon an- 
other occasion, were scouting near Marietta. We 
wished to ascertain if the troops still occupied the 
town. Jackson was on his gray horse. I was on a big, 
fine mule, that I had borrowed for the day, my ow^'n 
horse from hard riding needing a rest. As we topped 
quite a hill overlooking the town, we almost ran into 
a troop of Federal cavalry in the road coming at a 
quiet road-gait our way. We sighted each other at 
the same time. As we wheeled, they fired and made 
a dash for us. We had about one hundred yards the 
start; Jackson's gray getting away with him in fine 
style. From some cause, my mule, though he had 
quite a reputation for speed, would not let himself 
out. Instead of exerting himself, he galloped alonjr 
in a perfunctory way, turning his head, looking back 
and braying like a jackass. Jackson, seeing my pre- 
dicament galloped back, calling to me to get off and 
jump up behind him. Instead of doing this, I jumped 
from the mule and bolted into the thick woods that 
fortunately for me lined the road. The mule some- 
how took it into his fool head to follow; and came 



Page One Hundred Two 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

tearing and bawling through the brush after me, 
blazing my trail like a pack of hounds would. Not- 
withstanding all the noise and braying, I soon found 
I was not followed. 

The Federals, no doubt, suspected an ambuscade, 
as Jackson, seeing how I was disposed of, rode into 
the brush, upon the same side of the road a hundred 
yards or so beyond me. Stopping a bit to listen, get 
breath and my bearings, I again mounted my mule 
and, picking my way, proceeded as noiselessly as I 
could through the woods at right angles to the road 
I had left. Before going far, I heard voices in the 
woods ahead of me, and stopping to listen, I plainly 
recognized Jackson's. Not knowing what to make 
of it exactly, and being sure I was not mistaken as 
to his voice, I slapped spurs into the mule and charged 
like a veritable Don Quixote, the mule fetching 
another bray as an accompaniment that could have 
been heard a mile. 

As we partially tore through, and partially vaulted 
over some low brush, to my surprise, I landed almost 
on top of three Federal soldiers that Jackson had 
lined up and was relieving of their valuables In a most 
thorough and systematic way. Jackson was seated 
upon a stump, facing the Federals, and about thirty 
feet from them; his short carbine lay across his lap, 
with the gray horse's bridle rein over the stump be- 
hind him. He was taking the Federals in rotation, 
com-pelling each in turn to take off coat and trousers, 
turn them all wrong side out, pockets included, and 



Page One Hundred Three 

IN THE ARMY 

to advance a step or two and deposit the clothes and 
valuables in separate piles in front of him; then to 
go back and line up, Jackson all the time keeping up 
a running fire of threats, curses and witticisms com- 
bined. 

By the time he was through, he had before him a 
small pile of valuables, consisting of greenbacks, jack- 
knives, combs, and so forth, and so forth, and quite 
a pile of cast-off army clothes. Taking up the few 
greenbacks and the two best jack-knives, one of 
which he gave me — offering me at the same time a 
divide of the greenbacks, which I declined — he 
made the prisoners swear to an improvised parole. 
He then mounted his horse and we rode away, Jack- 
son telling the prisoners that as soon as we were well 
out of sight, they might dress themselves and go 
about their business. 

As we rode off, Jackson, by way of apology and 
explanation, said that as he had no thought of leav- 
ing me, he soon turned his horse into the wood and 
after he heard the cavalry pass, he was cautiously 
riding through the woods looking for me, when he 
heard the troop galloping back, evidently upon an- 
other road a little way north of the one we had left. 
While he stood concealed in the wood some dis- 
tance from the road, waiting for the troop to pass, 
the three infantrymen, evidently trying to avoid the 
cavalry, almost ran over him. 

They were infantrymen prowling the country on 
their own account, and evidently without leave. Al- 



Page One Hundred Four 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

ready frightened, and out of breath, at his short, 
sharp command to halt, the leader, Jackson said, 
stopped like a bird dog on a point, and the other two 
promptly backed him. So he concluded to see what 
they had valuable about them. 

Lieutenant Jackson and myself, after this incident, 
became greater chums than ever. We continued to 
scout together until at the end of ninety days we with 
the others reported back to General Hood, where 
I was assigned to the Command of the Sixteenth Con- 
federate Regiment of Cavalry. This Sixteenth Con- 
federate composed the first regiment of Hill's Bri- 
gade.. 

With this regiment as a nucleus we succeeded in a 
short time in raising a Cavalry Brigade of about five 
thousand men. This brigade was composed mainly 
of the old infantry soldiers left behind by General 
Bragg's Army, on his withdrawal from Kentucky and 
Tennessee. These men originally enlisted from Bor- 
der States when the troubles began and public en- 
thusiasm ran high. Many of them believed the War 
would not last three months, and they left their 
homes illy prepared themselves to go, and with still 
less preparation for their famihes to live at home 
without them. Soon after enlistment, they all were 
moved South with the general Southern Army align- 
ment, and their unprotected families were left to the 
horrors of civil strife in a divided and disputed terri- 
tory. Thus situated, these soldiers had spent ''their 
first hard year serving as infantry. 



Page One Hundred Five 

IN THE ARMY 

When the Army of Tennessee, under Generals 
Bragg and E. Kirby Smith, advanced into Kentucky, 
and drove the Federal forces to the Ohio river and 
beyond, these men naturally felt they were again com- 
ing into their own. They were met everywhere with 
shouts and rejoicing, and when General Kirby Smith's 
corps headed by John Morgan's Cavalry, passed 
through Lexington they were given an ovation. 
Richly dressed women, the flower of Southern woman- 
hood, met them with open doors and upon their front 
porches. Buckets^ — and even barrels of ice water — 
were upon the streets in front of the houses, and 
dusky servitors assisted by their smiling mistresses, 
served other refreshments. Every city, village and 
hamlet received them in a similar manner. All this 
was cheery and inspiring to the men who had been 
banished from their homes for a twelve month. This 
was followed by the most complete victory of the 
War for the Southern Cause, viz, : the battle at 
Richmond, Kentucky. 

General Bragg, who commanded the entire Army, 
personally directed the movements of the Western 
Division and with this he advanced upon Louisville, 
as General Kirby Smith advanced in the direction of 
Cincinnati. General Bragg, with his own division 
vacilated and blundered, issued orders and counter- 
manded them; approached within fourteen miles of 
Louisville and turned back — fighting no battle and 
winning no victories. 

I was then a gunner in the First Texas Artillery 



Page One Hundred Six 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

that was attached to Kirby Smith's Corps. We 
reached the banks of the Ohio River after nightfall; 
planted our field pieces upon the shores just opposite 
Cincinnati ; ranged our guns covering the City's lights 
— not three-quarters of a mile away — and awaited 
the dawn for orders to commence firing. The men 
meantime lying upon the ground in their respective 
positions by their guns. Instead of the looked-for 
order, two or three hours before dawn, we were 
quietly awakened by the whispered command to 
"Limber to the rear, wrap your gun-carriage wheels 
with hay and withdraw them by hand, without noise." 
Soon the horses were put to the guns, and we moved 
on for hours without so much as a halt. Long lines 
of our infantry soon began to file into the road be- 
hind us; with haversacks and canteens hanging at 
their sides, their knapsacks and guns upon their 
backs and shoulders. Soon after daylight, wagon 
trains appeared all headed southward. By this time 
our entire Army was upon the route march, and as 
all cross-roads were blocked with waiting teams and 
wagons it was apparent to all that we were upon a 
general retreat and were again abandoning the coun- 
try. The disappointment was great and this retreat 
lost us a large part of our Army. 

Under color of a short leave of absence to see and 
bid good-bye to their families and without such 
leave, our men dropped out by hundreds and by 
thousands and remained behind. These men were 
in the main mountaineers and back-countrymen. Af- 



Page One Hundred Seven 

IN THE ARMY 

ter they heard the tales told them of the want, suf- 
fering and many outrages perpetrated in their former 
absence, they were unwilling to again leave all that 
was dear to them to horrors worse than war. Who 
could blame them? They knew they could hold the 
mountains, the hills and the backwoods, and pro- 
tect their wives and daughters, and sweethearts, if 
the Southern Army could not; and thev did it. 

To meet and match the Federal Home Guards, 
and the marauding robber bands that belonged to 
neither side or Army, they organized and operated 
singly and in squads. They formed themselves of- 
ten into Guerrilla Bands to enable them to act more 
effectively. Knowing the hills and the hiding places, 
the by ways and the mountain passes, raised from 
infancy upon their mountain horses, they were cap- 
ital horsemen and they could in their own mountain 
country ride and strike like a thunder bolt. Besides, 
their hard year in the Infantiy service had made them 
veterans in War, 

When General Hood took command of the Army 
of Tennessee, to reclaim these men and get them 
back into the Army, he ordered General Ben Hill 
to re-enlist these mountain men in his Cavalry, thus 
giving them a chance to clear their record and wipe 
out old scores. 

The hiding and warring mountaineers were but 
too glad to accept General Hill's offer, and mounted 
upon their own horses they joined us by hundreds. 
The Independent and Guerrilla Companies, without 



Page One Hundred Eight 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

disbanding and joining, came under their own al- 
ready famous Captains and reported, aided and co- 
operated with us. 

The General with his Staff and a small force was 
much of the time absent while we were engaged in 
this recruiting service. As recruits flocked to him 
he would forward them in Squads, Companies and 
Battalions to the command. Organizing these, and 
keeping off marauders and raids of Federal Cav- 
alry kept me and my immediate command fully oc- 
cupied. While following a raid of Federals, I one 
day received from General Hill the following order: 

"Oxford, Ala., April 25, 1865. 
Colonel : 

Pursue the enemy cautiously. I send you a guide 
that knows the country. If he does not know the 
country sufficiently, press another that does know. 
Myself, Dr. Smart, Maj. Watkins and Capt. Creig- 
head are coming on with re-inforcements and will 
join you at the earliest possible moment. We have 
killed, wounded and captured fifty Yankees with a 
small force. I have a great many prisoners now in 
possession that myself and staff and two men cap- 
tured. I have captured a great many horses and 
Spencer rifles, with plenty of ammunition. If I 
could have had fifty men with me I could have cap- 
tured many of their number. I have sent a com- 
mand to General Wofford who will meet the enemy 



Page One Hundred Nine 

IN THE ARM Y 

at Chattahoochy with four or five thousand effective 
men. Advance cautiously and parallel with the 
enemy and hang upon his flanks. 

By Order of Brig. General B. J. Hill. 

A. M. Watkins, 
Insp. General, Hill Brigade. 

To Colonel Gramp, Com'd'g, &c. 

P. S. — Col. Sparks will join us tonight with sixty 
or seventy men, and others will join us soon." 

In obedience to this order, I continued to pursue 
the raid of Federals I was following and came up 
with them near Talladega, Alabama. There, after 
two or three vigorous charges with my advance, I 
succeeded in routing the Federal Cavalry, and clear- 
ing and saving the town, and a rich private bank 
there, owned by a wealthy and prominent citizen, 
Major Isabell. 

The Major and his family were good friends of 
mme. I had more than once enjoyed their kind 
hospitality, as well as that of Major Terry's, Judge 
Heflin's and other prominent and good citizens there. 
In fact, General Hill's command had been much 
at and around Talladega, Blue Mountain, Oxford 
and Jacksonville. All of these places were in close 
proximity; we knew every trail and by-path. Owing 
to this, the Federals had found themselves sorely 
beset upon all sides. They were compelled to keep 



Page One Hundred Ten 
, THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

moving and to keep their command together. They 
could not divide, and capture towns, and take or 
destroy ordinance, Quarteniiaster or Commissary 
supplies stored there. When my advance attacked 
them in Talladega we cleared the town, saved the 
bank and everything there in twenty minutes. 

There is now on the stage a pretty Southern play 
called Talladega. It opens with a charming war 
scene in the town of Talladega. As our skirmish 
(it can scarcely be called more) was the only bat- 
tle fought there, when I saw the play, I was deeply 
interested. How it recalled the loves and sentiments 
of long past days. How much I loved my young 
lady friends there, the banker's daughter among 
them, and which I loved the best I will not tell 
here. 

After the Talladega fight, we continued to follow 
the Federal Cavalry Brigade. Our method of fight- 
ing was after the guerrilla order. This was the 
style that best suited us, and that our men were most 
accustomed to and that was best adapted to the 
wooded hill country through which we were operat- 
ing, I had in this pursuit only a part of two regi- 
ments, my own and Colonel Spark's. The remainder 
of the brigade being back waiting to be joined by 
General Hill himself. Besides my own command, 
two independent regular Guerilla commands were 
hanging onto the enemy's flanks and rear like bear 
dogs, nipping and tearing him at every turn. When 
a company or battalion of my own command, or one 



Page One Hundred Eleven 

/;V THE ARMY 

of these independent companies, would suddenly come 
dashing from the hills, or down some mountain de- 
file, and attack the Federal column in the flank, they 
would strike and sting like a bunch of hornets. They 
would charge through them, emptying with their 
ready six-shooter every saddle within reach. They 
would then often turn, gallop up or down the Fed- 
eral column and charge back with the same deadly 
effect — losing themselves hardly a man. 

In one of these attacks, made upon the Federal 
command at daylight one morning, I had a splendid 
chestnut mare, that I had borrowed, killed from un- 
der me. This misadventure was the means of pro- 
viding me with the best mount that I in a long life 
have ever known or seen. I have in my time been 
in many countries, and seen and known, and even 
rode many good horses, but none that ever ap- 
proached the black thoroughbred mare (the same I 
referred to a few pages back), that I shall mention 
now. When the mare I had borrowed to make the 
night ride and daylight attack was hit, I felt the 
shock and felt her flinch under me. From the way 
she took the bit and blindly plunged ahead, regard- 
less of the guiding rein,. I knew she was badly hurt. 
She, however, carried me through the charge, and 
dropped dead as a stone. As the Federals made no 
attempt to charge, or to follow us, I made a halt to 
rest the command, breathe the horses and to take 
such light breakfast as our saddle pockets could sup- 
ply. 



Page One Hundred Twelve 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

While we were halted, up came as fine a type of 
the old Southern "Gentleman of the Black Stock" 
as it had ever been my good fortune to meet. He 
addressed me in the most courteous way; gave his 
name, which I cannot now recall, alluded to my mis- 
hap, and said his servant was bringing me, what he 
thought was the finest mare in the Southern Con- 
federacy. 

Soon, an old colored serving man led her up. Her 
glossy black coat gleamed in the morning sun like 
satin. She was of medium height, with a head, neck, 
back and legs that were faultless. She had a full, 
clear, fearless, but gentle eye, wide forehead and 
pointed ears almost always turned forward, as much 
as to say, "It's what goes on in front that interests 
me." 

The mare was an imported one, as the gentle- 
man told me. I think I am a fair judge of horses, 
but when I had looked her over, I was at once con- 
vinced I had never seen mare or horse that in con- 
form^ation and general appearance was quite as good. 
When I asked as to her speed and saddle qualities, 
he told me that she was perfect. After riding her, 
I quite agreed with him. I could start from the 
rear of a column, half a mile long, charging at full 
speed, and pass to the front, almost as though they 
were standing still. A thread would hold and guide 
her. She carried you like a bird and was matchless 
to lead a charge with. Leading a cavalry charge is 
after all not so dangerous. Twenty-five to fifty yards 



Page One Hundred Thirteen 

IN THE ARMY 

in advance of your own column is about as safe a 

place as you can have, where you are charging other 

cavalry. As a rule, they don't so much fire at you, 

as at the larger body behind. It is a good deal 

like quail shooting when a covey is flushed; there is 

always a bird in the covey that rises a second first. 

This bird gets away nine times out of ten. The 

shooters — no difference how many — almost invariably 

shoot at the bunch; if they are true sportsmen, they 

pick off their singles from the rim of the flying covey. 

The old gentleman when he presented me the 

mare, made of me one request; that was, that if both 

the mare and myself were alive at the close of the 

war, I was to advise him, and he would come for her. 

I promised to observe this request, and I faithfully 

kept my promise. 

Soon after this, while still following the cav- 
alry raid, I captured quite a squad of the Federal 
Cavalry we were pursuing. They told me of Gen- 
eral Robert E. Lee's surrender of the Army of Vir- 
gmia. This was confirmed by some late papers upon 
their persons giving the terms and details. I at 
once discontinued the pursuit, faced about, and made 
for our base at Blue Mountain, Alabama. Almost 
every mile brought confirmation of the report. When 
I reached Blue Mountain, I found the rest of our 
command there. The next day's train brought the 
owner of the mare. It is needless to say, I at once 
returned her to him; but not until I had offered him 



Page One Hundred Fourteen 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

everything I had (a horse or two), and promised my 
note besides for about all I expected to have — any 
way soon. All was declined with courtesy, and I 
returned the mare in fine condition, and without scar 
or blemish, just as she was when I received her. 
This grand old gentleman boarded the first train, 
taking with him the mare and the same old colored 
man who first led her to me, in charge of her. How 
I wanted to ride her to Texas. I had already made 
up my mind to go there, as Johnston's Army would 
no doubt surrender. 

To say that I was surprised at General Lee's 
surrender is to put it mildly. I was literally 
astounded. For the first time in my four years' 
service, I had but just come into a position that gave 
me a chance. I had had less than six months of 
fighting that was really to my taste. I had been in 
command of my regiment for only four months, 
and much of this time in command of the brigade. 

From the time I took command until I heard of 
Lee's surrender, I had been day and night in the 
saddle; all of the time upon neutral territory or 
within the enemies' lines. Now, as it seemed, all 
was over. Just where General Johnston's Army was 
I did not know. It, perhaps, had already surrend- 
ered. The question was, what to do. Had I then 
known what had been known to General Lee and 
President Davis, and the Confederate Congress for 
weeks before Lee's surrender, I would have taken 
my command straight to Maximilian and Mexico. 



Page One Hundred Fifteen 

IN THE ARMY 

For, as I afterwards learned, in February, 1865, 
Judge John A. Campbell, of Alabama, who had been 
one of the Associate Justices of the Supreme Court 
of the United States, and who was Assistant — but 
in fact the real — Secretary of War for the Southern 
Confederacy, had in the name of the War Depart- 
ment at Richmond, called upon the heads of all the 
Departments of the Armies of the Confederacy for 
a full and complete report of their several condi- 
tions, both as to war supplies on hand and their 
means and prospects for replenishment. When the 
reports came in, the Secretary was astounded. Judge 
Campbell took these reports to President Davis, 
submitting them to him personally. The President 
looked them over, and without comment ordered 
Judge Campbell to forward them at once to Gen- 
eral Lee, who had a short time before been made 
Commanding General of all the Armies of the South- 
em Confederacy. 

General Lee immediately returned these reports 
with the following endorsement: "Respectfully re- 
turned with the further information that I cannot 
hold my present lines at Petersburg nor can I re- 
treat therefrom, and It is the duty of the Adminis- 
tration and the Confederate Congress to at once 
obtain from the United States Government the best 
possible terms of surrender." 

(Signed) Robert E. Lee, 
: General Commanding. 



Page One Hundred Sixteen 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

President Davis at once submitted these reports 
to the Confederate Congress with General Lee's en- 
dorsements. When they were received, without any 
attempt at action upon them, Congress adjourned 
and the members left Richmond. 

The above account, so far as I know, has never 
appeared in the public prints. That It is a correct 
one, I fully believe, for I have it upon what I con- 
sider the best possible authority. 

In deciding what we should do, I had of course 
to consult my men. They, not knowing just what 
their reception would be, fearing they might be re- 
quired at the return of peace to answer to the Civil 
Authorities for the many mountain tragedies en- 
acted during the War, hesitated to surrender and 
go home. They were just the men to take to the 
Trans-Mississippi or to the great Southwest beyond. 
They were ready to fight for the Confederacy to the 
last gasp under General Kirby Smith, If fighting for 
it was longer possible. If it was not, they would 
have been quite as willing to have gone on, and 
linked their fortunes with the great and good. Emp- 
eror Maximilian In Mexico, had they known that the 
last flag of the Southern Confederacy would be furled 
forever before they reached the Mississippi. In fact, 
had we anticipated General Kirby Smith's Immediate 
surrender, I, instead of ordering my men to report 
to me at his headquarters at Shreveport, would have 
taken them to the Rio Grande. 



Page One Hundred Seventeen 

IN THE ARMY 

I had heard that Maximilian had against his own 
inclinations, and at the urgent request of the leading 
powers of Europe — and as he was made to believe 
at the request of Mexico herself — reluctantly con- 
sented to ascend the throne and devote his life and 
best energies to giving Mexico a wise, just and per- 
manent Government, something she had never had. 

It would have been an easy task for five thousand 
men at that time to traverse Arkansas and Texas 
on horseback. All the Southern States were then 
full of returning soldiers. The few gunboats on the 
Mississippi would have been no real obstacle. They 
could slip by those and cross the Mississippi any 
dark night; ford the Rio Grande and be in Mexico 
in thirty days. They had been accustomed to taking 
care of themselves, to moving rapidly with no more 
baggage or equipment than they could carry on their 
horses, and to live upon the country they passed 
through; or to scatter and re-assemble at any desig- 
nated point, even if the point was a thousand miles 
away. 

They were ready for desperate deeds, to lead for- 
lorn hopes, to fight to the last gasp, if fighting was 
possible. They were just then what the Emperor 
Maximilian most needed. They were fighting men, 
every one of them. They were under their own cap- 
tains, trained, mounted and armed and had all the 
equipment they needed. For Mexico and the guer- 
rilla warfare carried on there, the world could not 
furnish their equals. They were ready to become 



Page One Hundred Eighteen 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

Soldiers of Fortune, and were entitled to rank with 
the best the world had ever seen. With five thousand 
such men as a nucleus, it would have been no difficult 
matter for Maximilian to change the Map of Mexico, 
and of all the Latin Republics. 

It is the Soldier of Fortune after all that has 
always done a large part of the worlds hard fighting. 
D'Artagnan, Porthos, Athos and Aramis, that Dumas 
writes about, were Soldiers of Fortune, if they were 
anything. So was the White Company that domi- 
nated Southern Europe for twenty years. My men 
and the Independent Guerrilla Companies co-operat- 
ing with us at the surrender of the Army of the 
Tennessee, were just as vicious fighters as the White 
Company that Conan Doyle so writes about. 

The fact is, I don't believe there ever was, for 
Guerilla Warfare, and for fighting on horseback, 
quite such fighting machines as our horseback moun- 
taineers were. They never attempted to carry a 
gun. They never fought dismounted and never 
meant to if they could help it, A gun seriously 
handicaps a man on a horse. It takes the left arm 
and hand to manage his horse. Give him a pair of 
six-shooters at his belt, the butts to the front, and 
another pair in his saddle holsters in front of him 
and he can manipulate them in rotation about as 
speedily and effectually as a lady can her piano keys. 
He knows just where they are without looking, and 
can discharge the twenty-four shots in about that 
many seconds, all the time keeping his eyes upon 



Page One Hundred Nineteen 

IN THE ARMY 

his enemy. If he is dismounted he has often time 
to transfer his pistols in the holsters to his belt. 
Every one of these Independent Companies, as well 
as my command, had they known General Kirby 
Smith would surrender before they could cross the 
Mississippi, would have just as readily set out for 
Mexico as for Shreveport. If they had, I have an 
idea things might have been different, and Maxi- 
milian might never have been deserted and a pris- 
oner, and might never have met his death alone from 
the rifles of a Mexican firing squad. 

Maximilian deserved a better fate. Lured by 
crowned heads from ideal and peaceful surroundings; 
his life, history and death coupled with the loss of 
reason of his beloved and peerless Carlotta; make 
one of the saddest and most pathetic pages of his- 
toiy. 

I knew the Emperor Maximilian's Chief Aide in 
Mexico. This was General R. E. Gunner, who (in 
Aug., 1911), died at the age of 78, in my home 
town, in Texas, where he spent the last twenty-five 
years of his life. General Gunner accompanied Max- 
imilian to Mexico. He was an educated Austrian 
officer, Maximilian's Chief of Artillery, and the Com- 
mander of his Palace. In an interview published be- 
fore his death, he thus spoke of Maximilian : 

"Oh, the Emperor? Than him there never lived 
a grander, nobler man. He loved Mexico with all 
his heart, and until close to his end his confidence 



Page One Hundred Twenty 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

and love led him to trust everybody. He was of 
a chivalrous nature — a true Hapsburg, the descend- 
ant of a line that ruled for eight centuries. He 
thought to make Mexico, that wonderful country, 
contented, happy and prosperous — as it could and 
should be. He had no ambition as a ruler but to 
resurrect and reconstruct his fellow men. Contrast 
his station in Europe with his condition in Mexico, 
and you will admit it. The idea that he erected his 
throne to make money is preposterous. The dowry 
alone of the Empress Carlotta was 20,000,000 francs 
cash, and he was the heir of the abdicated Emperor 
Ferdinand of Austria, whose riches are untold. He 
had given Maximilian his charming castle of Mira- 
mar, around which clustered the most golden mem- 
ories, and which is surrounded by a panorama of all 
in nature and art that is calculated to make life 
pleasing. For abandoning these attractions for an 
Empire in Mexico, he was called a dreamer, but 
the true story of his chivalric nature has never been 
written. He was not a pleasure seeker. 

"For upward of ten years I was the Emperor's 
confidential companion, and I have in my possession 
a letter he wrote me from Queretaro two hours be- 
fore his death, thanking me for my sincere attach- 
ment and true friendship. He had the future of 
Mexico at heart and his last wish was that his would 
be the last blood shed by that countr^^ Maximilian, 
I repeat, desired to be the redeemer of Mexico. Court 
etiquette was observed in his palace as a presenta- 



Page One Hundred Twenty-One 

IN THE ARMY 

tion of majesty, but the Emperor was vei7 simple 
in his habits and a hard worker. He arose at 4 
o'clock in the morning to attend to the affairs of 
State. The French abandoned him, Napoleon's pres- 
tige shivering before the military demonstrations 
made by the United States. Pierron insulted him 
by saying if he wanted money France would let 
him have it when he went there. Castelnar was sent 
over by Napoleon to induce him to abdicate and leave 
Mexico; but he had embarked with his honor on a 
mission of humanity and he preserved his honor w^ith 
his life. He and Napoleon were not cast in the 
same mold. The men he did most for in Mexico 
proved to be the dogs that bit him most brutally." 

I have known Mexico and the Latin Republic for 
more than half a century. Half a dozen fighters 
could always start a Revolution there. I knew some 
of General Walker's men. One of his officers, Major 
Morey, after his return from General Walker's Nica- 
rauga Expedition, died in my house in Texas. The 
other day I lunched, at the invitation of a friend, 
with General Garibaldi, aide to Madero in his late 
fling at revolution in Mexico. While General Gari- 
baldi does not think so, my own opinion is that 
Madero, too, will soon flee the country as his prede- 
cessors have done, or face like them a Mexican fir- 
ing line. It would in my opinion have been far 
better for Mexico had Maximilian been sustained. 
I have no faith in a Republic for such a people. 



Page One Hundred Twenty-Two 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

But, to return to our own affairs, after reaching 
our base at Blue Mountain, we had little further 
time to consider matters. We were isolated and in 
the interior with detached Federal troops pressing 
us upon all sides demanding our immediate sur- 
render. As I was unwilhng to do this as yet, and 
my men were of the same mind, I obtained from 
General Hill the following order and letters of In- 
troduction : 

"Hd. Qrs. Hill's Brigade, 
Jacksonville, Ala., April, 1865. 

Special Order No. . 

Owing to the surrender of General Lee's Army 
and the critical condition of General Johnston's 
Army and the hopelessness of our cause in the East 
side of the Mississippi River, Colonel Gramp of 
my Brigade, is hereby ordered and directed to pro- 
ceed at once to the Trans-Mississippi Department 
and establish his headquarters at Shreveport, La., for 
the purpose of collecting all men of my Brigade, 
who have been directed to report at that Post. Af- 
ter accomplishing this object, should it be imprac- 
ticable for him to remain at Shreveport, he will re- 
move his headquarters to Tyler, Texas, or to any 
point the military authorities may think best and 
await my arrival. 

By Order of Brig. General B. J. Hill. 

W. S. Jeter, A. D. C" 



Page One Hundred Twenty-Three 

IN THE ARMY 

"Hd. Qrs. Hill's Brigade, 
Blue Mountain, Ala., May i, 1865. 

General E. Kirby Smith, 

Comd'g Trans. Miss. Dept. 

Introducing Col. Gramp. 
General : 

I write this to introduce to your acquaintance Col. 
Gramp of my Brigade. Col. Gramp was ordered 
by General Hood to report to me in November last. 
Since he reported he has been under my orders and 
has rendered efficient services. He commanded the 
ist Regiment of my Brigade, and I have the pleasure 
in saying that in every action in which his regiment 
has been engaged, he has displayed cool, deliberate 
judgment and has evinced the highest evidence of 
bold courage and gallantry. His conduct has been 
such as to endear him to the command, and I can 
truthfully state the troops had great confidence In 
him as an officer. The Colonel's Regiment was duly 
organized, muster rolls forwarded to the War De- 
partment for Commissions, but owing to the late de- 
rangement of affairs, we have not been able to obtam 
the approval and Commissions for the officers. In con- 
sequence of the unfortunate surrender of General 
Lee and his Army and in view of the certainty of 
the surrender of General Johnston and his Army, 
it has brought about such a condition of affairs as 
render it impracticable to retain organization In this 



Page One Hundred Twenty-Four 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

locality; and many of my command express a desire 
to make an effort to go to the Trans-Mississippi 
Department and there continue hostilities under your 
leadership. Owing to such circumstances, Colonel 
Gramp has applied and obtained an order to report 
to your Department. I have ordered all who prefer 
crossing the river to taking a parol to report to 
Colonel Gramp, at Shreveport, La., or wherever you 
may designate. In conclusion, General, allow me to 
ask in Colonel Gramp's behalf your favorable con- 
sideration, and believe me as ever, 

Your friend truly, 

Brig. General B. J. Hill, 
Commanding Cavalry." 

"Hd. Qrs. Hill's Brigade, 
Blue Mountain, Ala., May i, 1865. 

General T. J. Churchhill, 

Trans-Mississippi Department. 

General: 

Allow me to introduce to your acquaintance Col- 
onel Gramp of this Brigade. Colonel Gramp was 
ordered by General Hood to report to me in No- 
vember last as Captain and was promoted to the 
rank of Colonel on March the ist and ordered to 
take command of the i6th Confederate Regiment 
of this Brigade. In consequence of the late terms 
of agreement made and entered into with the Fed- 



Page One Hundred Twenty-Five 

/;V THE ARMY 

eral Generals by Generals Lee and Johnston, It has 
been made impracticable to retain an organization 
and many of my command are desirous to obtain 
orders to report to Colonel Gramp in the Trans- 
Mississippi Department, I have the pleasure in stat- 
ing that the Colonel possesses high qualifications 
for an officer of his rank. He has evinced cool 
courage and gallantry in every engagement in which 
his regiment has been engaged. 

I recommend him as a gentleman and officer to 
your favorable consideration. 

I am, General, with high regard. 

Your obedient servant and friend, 

Brig. General B. J. Hill, 
Commanding Cavalry." 
To Brig. General Churchill. 

After receiving my orders and letters, I assembled 
my command, and told them that all who wished 
to do so could follow, and join me at Shreveport, 
La., where I expected to find the headquarters of 
the Confederate Trans-Mississippi Department. In 
my few words to them I further said that I did not 
think it best for us to attempt to go through as a 
command, or even in battalions or companies. That 
their best chance to get through would be for them 
to travel separately, each man for himself, or in small 
squads; that to go in force or in large armed squads 



Page One Hundred Twenty-Six 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

would be sure to attract the attention of the Federal 
authorities, and cause their arrest. That further re- 
sistance East of the Mississippi would be not only 
madness, but criminal. That the leaders of our arm- 
ies there had surrendered in good faith, and that 
faith must be observed. I advised all that lived 
East of the Mississippi, who had homes to which 
they could safely go, to surrender and go there. 

With these few words of counsel and advice, I 
disbanded my command, and with one companion, 
Lieutenant Street, of Tuscaloosa, Ala., now an emi- 
nent Judge upon the bench of Texas, I started on 
horseback to make my way through the country to 
the Trans-Mississippi Department. Notwithstand- 
ing the natural depression consequent upon our sur- 
roundings, the few days journey upon horseback 
with Lieutenant Street were not unpleasant. The 
Lieutenant was a most charming traveling compan- 
ion. He would daily regale me by reciting "Anthony 
to Cleopatra," until I learned every word of that 
masterly poem by heart. I believe the poem is called 
"Anthony to Cleopatra." At any rate, it is the poem 
that begins : 

"I am dying! Egypt, dying! 
Ebbs the crimson life tide fast, 
And the dark Plutonian Shadows 
Gather on the evening blast." 

This poem, as I was told, was written by General 
Lytle, of the Federal Army one night in his tent 
during the War, when the General was so in his 



Page One Hundred Twenty-Seven 

IN THE ARMY 

cups that he knew nothing of it, or of his writing 
it, when it was shown to him the next morning. Now, 
I do not vouch for this version, or that I give it 
correctly. I simply tell the story here as it was told 
to me. I have no recollection of ever myself seeing 
the poem in print. It of course has often been pub- 
lished. Probably, too, with a different authenticity 
than I give here. If so. It may be that my recollec- 
tion after fifty years, is all at fault. At any rate, 
this much I am sure of, the Lieutenant In those long 
day rides, by his continued verbal repetitions and 
most eloquent recital, taught me a beautiful poem 
that I remember to this day. 

As we were entirely without money — even Con- 
federate money in any amount — it was not always 
easy, notwithstanding the general hospitality of the 
people upon the road, for us to stop at a house for 
the night. We always managed, however, to do 
this. 

The Judge to this day insists that In our journey- 
ing, there was always a point of difference between 
us. He insisting on telling in advance we had no 
money; while I, he claims, insisted on telling this 
the next morning. As I was the ranking officer, I, 
the Judge claims, always had my way about It. I 
really think that our sentiments coincided in every 
particular, and I must so far differ from the Judge 
as to think he is quite mistaken; and that my frank 
disposition would hardly have allowed of my at- 



Page One Hundred Twenty-Eight 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

tempting to mislead any one in so unimportant a 
matter. 

After myself and Lieutenant S. had journeyed a 
week or so together, we learned that General Kirby 
Smith had surrendered the Department of the Trans- 
Mississippi. With this news fled the hopes of the 
last Confederate soldier. 

This intelligence came to us in the woods that 
cover the Mississippi bottom, where I and my com- 
panion, like hundreds of others, were lurking, dodg- 
ing the Federal troops, patrols and gunboats, await- 
ing an opportunity to cross the river. 

When fully assured as to the correctness of this 
report, we turned Northward, traveling on horse- 
back up the river until we reached Memphis, Tenn. 
There a Federal patrol took charge of us as we rode 
into the city, and escorted us to headquarters; our 
grey uniforms proclaiming as well as words could 
our status and mission. As we rode our horses and 
retained our side-arms, citizens as we passed under 
guard through the streets would salute, bow and 
smile to us in the most friendly and kindly way. A 
few words at Federal headquarters assured us the 
most respectful treatment. We were allowed to keep 
our horses and side-arms, everything in fact we had, 
and as soon as the few formalities of our surrender 
were gone through with, we were turned over in the 
nicest way to the group of loyal citizens waiting to 



Page One Hundred Twenty-Nine 

IN THE ARMY 

take charge of us. Never was hospitality more 
kindly extended; never was it more fully appreciated. 

A most princely Southern gentleman — I wish I 
could recall his name — welcomed us to his house and 
interesting family, and kept us there for the two or 
three days we would remain; the entire family show- 
ering us with kindness and courtesies. In the mean- 
time the United States Government gave me one 
hundred dollars in greenbacks for my horse, and 
gave me transportation down the Mississippi, and 
up the Arkansas River to Pine Bluff, Arkansas, my 
nearest point of departure for Texas. 

At Pine Bluff, I paid forty dollars for a pony, 
and set out alone overland for the old sheep ranch 
in Texas I had left four years before. In due time, 
by slow stages, sick from a chronic disease contracted 
in the Army, weary and travel-worn, I reached the 
house of the old farmer friend who lived nearest 
to the sheep Ranch. This old friend kindly took me in. 
After a few days rest, by his advice, I again set out 
on my pony for a mineral spring of note, in a West- 
ern County, hoping its medicinal waters would cure 
me. In this I was disappointed. I remained at these 
Springs about two months, and until the little money 
I had left from the sale of my horse at Memphis 
was exhausted. 

The War was a severe blow to State-Rights. Af- 
ter it the blue lights of Federalism burned with re- 
newed brilliancy. And after all what has been the 



Page One Hundred Thirty 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

result? Slavery has ceased to exist, but it was not 
the cause of the war nor was it abolished by it. 
Mr. Lincoln's proclamation declaring the slaves free 
could have no legal effect. It took an act of Congress 
and the 13th Amendment to the Constitution to 
abolish slavery. 

The war established the fact that the General Gov- 
ernment in four years with the aid of all the North- 
ern States backed by their boundless resources and 
the 2,678,916 soldiers they actually put in the field — 
as shown by the departments at Washington — was 
able to finally overwhelm and cause the surrender of 
the 100,000 soldiers the South had left her; and this 
only after the South had no bread to feed them, and 
no men with which to recruit their ranks. 

But, has it established the fact that this was right 
and constitutional? Is it also settled that hereafter 
should the compact between the States be violated, 
and for such violation should the sovereign people 
of a State peacefully attempt to withdraw, that such 
withdrawal is cause for war? Have the results of 
the war made the General Government, the creature, 
larger than the States, the Creator? Has it been 
settled, too, that in future a State is to be held in 
the Union by the bayonet and not by the Original 
Compact and Constitution, and the laws of attrac- 
tion and fraternal bonds, regardless of the right and 
justice of the matter? If so, then the War has 
transferred sovereignty from the State to the Gen- 



Page One Hundred Thirty-One 

/;V THE ARMY 

eral Government, and It Is true that State-Rights — 
as to all vital matters — Is In fact destroyed. 

While Slavery was not the cause of the War, the 
fact that we had entailed as it were upon us by in- 
heritance rather than by conviction, that justly hated 
Institution, put the civilized world against us. An 
early proclamation by President Davis, freeing the 
slaves, would have brought foreign recognition and 
an early peace. Had President Davis been able and 
far-seeing enough to Issue such a proclamation, a 
part of the fame and Immortality that now surrounds 
the name of Abraham Lincoln would rightfully be- 
long to Mr. Davis. The opportunity by one blow 
to strike the shackles from four million slaves and 
make them free, has on this earth come but once. 

Again, a wise statesmanship upon the part of the 
Confederate authorities should have counselled, yea, 
even compelled, patience and a waiting policy. The 
election of Mr. Lincoln was not cause for war; 
neither was the secession of South Carolina. A few 
months delay with open Southern ports would have 
put the South's cotton crop In England, and given 
her a credit there of several hundred millions to 
enable her to keep them open. There was besides a 
large peace party In the North opposed to the at- 
tempt to coerce a State for exercising her right to 
secede. Had Sumter not been fired upon, actual war 
might have been delayed for months, or for a year, 
perhaps it would not have come at all. When it did 
come, the policy of the South under the circumstances, 



Page One Hundred Thirty-Two 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

as it seems to me, should have been throughout to 
wage a war for defense only; and upon her own ter- 
ritory. The South's grave mistake, it seems to me, 
was allowing precipitation, and ever attempting ag- 
gressive warfare. Had General Lee been able to 
have kept under protection and for defence the men 
lost at Gettysburg and on other exhausting and ag- 
gressive movements, he would have remained in- 
vincible with the Army of Virginia. So would Gen- 
eral Joseph E. Johnston under such a policy have 
been invincible with the Army of Tennessee; at least 
until the war party North would have demanded the 
War of invasion should cease. Again, putting Bragg 
early in command of this army was a mistake and it 
was another mistake to put General Hood in com- 
mand of it later. Had President Davis early placed 
General Joseph E. Johnston in command of the 
Army of Tennessee, and kept him there as he kept 
General Robert E. Lee in Virginia, results would 
have been different. Both Bragg and Hood were 
great fighters, but neither of them were fit to com- 
mand a Department, or to manage a great campaign. 
This had been fully demonstrated before either had 
been placed in the command of a Department. In 
their two advances and retreats, they lost us one- 
half of the Army of Tennessee. General Robert E. 
Lee lost half of his army on his advance into Penn- 
sylvania; over twenty thousand of them were left 
on the battlefield of Gettysburg alone. 

However, it all matters little now. If the war has 



Page One Hundred Thirty-Three 

IN THE ARMY 

decided that the Federal Government is to be the 
final and exclusive judge of the powers delegated to 
it by the States under the Federal Constitution and 
that the States hereafter have no voice in the matter, 
it may be just as well. 

From this decision an appeal has been taken to the 
God of Battles, and, as is usual in such cases, this 
impartial Arbiter has given the victory and his de- 
cision to the side with the heavy battalions, so per- 
haps we will have to let it go at that. 

■'Prior to the War, over and over again, was this 
great question discussed by the leading men of the 
country, from the adoption of the Federal Consti- 
tution in 1787 down to the outbreak of the Civil 
War. For seventy odd years it received the grave 
attention and consideration of the ablest intellects 
and statesmen that the country produced. The ques- 
tion on several occasions assumed a very grave as- 
pect, and it looked as if only a civil war could set- 
tle it. 

By resolutions of 1798 and 1799, passed by the 
Legislatures of Virginia and Kentucky, it was held 
that each State had the right to construe the Federal 
Constitution for itself in all questions in dispute be- 
tAveen the State and the Federal Government. In 
1 8 14, Massachusetts and other New England States 
held a convention at Hartford, Conn., and published 
a manifesto setting forth dangers impending tO' New 
England from the usurpations of the General Gov- 
ernment, as alleged by this convention. It also rec- 



Page One Hundred Thirty-Four 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

ommended that the Legislatures of the New England 
States should adopt such measures as would be neces- 
sary to protect the New England people from the 
operation of certain acts passed by Congress, and 
pronounced to be unconstitutional by the Convention 
at Hartford. In 1832 an ordinance was passed in 
South Carolina declaring certain acts of Congress 
passed on the tariff to be unconstitutional, and that 
South Carolina would secede from the Federal Union 
if the General Government attempted to enforce 
such tariff laws within the State of South Carolina." 
President Buchanan and his Cabinet held in 1861 
that a State could not be coerced from withdrawing 
from the Union. Horace Greeley with the New 
York Tribune took the same view, and the States- 
men of the South were unanimous in it. But, enough 
of War. 



CHAPTER SEVEN 

FROM 1865 TO 1895 

MY stay at the Mineral Springs in the West- 
ern County cost me little, — only twelve 
dollars a month all told. My pony's keep 
cost nothing. All I had to do was to 
turn him loose with the other horses upon the open 
range. If they chanced to escape the thieving bands 
of Comanches that occasionally raided the country, 
they were sure to turn up all right, and mine did. 

While at the Springs I made the acquaintance of 
many of the cattlemen. Among them, a Mr. Mosely, 
a large cattleman for those days and for that coun- 
try. Mr. Mosely lived at a flourishing frontier town 
only thirty miles from the Springs. He spent a month 
at the Springs with his family during my stay there. 
We became well acquainted. I liked him and his 
family, and they all seemed to like me. 

By the time I had exhausted my limited means 
and had to do something, Mr. Mosely advised that 
I join a cattleman's outfit that was going two hun- 
dred miles further West after cattle. I had been 



Page One Hundred Thirty-Six 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

shut up for two months, sleeping uidoors and taking 
little or no exercise, so it was suggested that now ta 
ride and rough it again after my rest might do for 
me what the Springs without exercise had failed to 
do; Mr. Mosely remarking that he had more than 
once observed that the beneficial effects of the waters 
were often most marked after leaving them. I took 
the advice, saddled my pony, settled my bill, — all but 
one dollar, I being that much short, to my embar- 
rassment, — and set out. I was then an invalid and 
too gloomy and blue to know or care much what 
became of me. 

We had no wagon, only pack-horses. Our saddle- 
blankets upon the bare ground made our bed at night. 
It was only by the daily use of opium that I was 
enabled to keep in the saddle and with the party for 
the first day or two. In three or four days, I could 
ride without stimulants, and in a week I was quite 
another person. 

I found the cowboys far from a bad lot. They 
were good to me from the beginning. The first few 
clays, while I was weak and ill, they could not do 
enough for me. They saddled and unsaddled my 
pony and hobbled him out. At night, while I was 
weak and feverish, they saw that a canteen of cool 
water was at my head within easy reach. When I 
began to improve, they saw that my tin cup had hot 
coffee, and my tin plate had the best of the steaming 
crtmp-stew. In a few days, I was in, — if not a new 



Page One Hundred Thirty-Seven 

FROM 1S6S TO 1895 

heaven, — what seemed a new earth. In fact, this 
Cowboy Land was both to me. No wonder I love it, 
and love to this day to go back to it. 

Fortunately for me, I set out at the very best sea- 
son for out-of-door life in that country. It was late 
summer. Old Mother Earth was warm and com- 
forting, with only a saddle-blanket to lie upon. The 
Grand Old Dame is not subject to sudden chill and 
change. She has so much to give her children if they 
will only keep close to her. He was a Wise Old 
Pagan who invented the Story of the Wrestler who 
could not be thrown as long as he could keep his feet 
on Mother Earth. 

When I started on this trip I was discouraged, 
broke, sick, and sadly out of line. In two or three 
weeks I was entirely myself and fit for anything. 
"Rural Nature has a subtle charm that all have felt 
who have had the good fortune to pass a portion of 
their lives in the country." I have always found that 
when I am worn, nervous, and troubled, if I can get 
into the forests, upon the plains, or in the mountams. 
Nature's Dumb-Motherhood, somehow, brings me 
'round again. 

After three or four weeks I reluctantly left my 
new friends and journeyed alone on horseback one 
hundred and fifty miles to a frontier town, where, 
with the aid of Mr. Mosely, I got me a five-months 
private school. When it was out, I married a most 
faithful and devoted wife; obtained my law license, 



Page One Hundred Thirty-Eight 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

and for eight years lived and practiced law in this 
dehghtful frontier town, where we made a few good 
and lifelong friends we regretted much to leave. I, 
however, over Bammy's, — always the steady wheel- 
horse in our conjugal team, — protest, insisted upon 
moving to a larger town in the interior of the State. 

We made the journey in a buggy, there being no 
railroads in that section in those days. My good 
wife, a daughter five years old, and seventeen thou- 
sand dollars, — all of my worldly possessions, — were 
carried in the buggy. With my own seventeen thou- 
sand dollars in United States greenback notes, I car- 
ried in a little grip in the buggy twenty-five thousand 
dollars more belonging equally to two of my friends, 
— a private banker already established in the city I 
v;'as removing to, agreed to put in twelve thousand, 
five hundred dollars with us, and with this we organ- 
ized and incorporated a City Bank with fifty thou- 
sand dollars capital, each taking one-fourth of the 
stock. After paying for my fourth of the bank stock, 
I had forty-five hundred dollars left with which to 
build a home. In the building we used all of this 
and more, — too much more, as Bammy thought. So 
v.'e sold this house and built a one-story, modest brick 
cottage amid the trees on an adjoining lot. 

This City Bank, at present "The City National 
Bank," is now one of the most prosperous banks in 
Texas. Here I remained seven years, dividing my 
attention about equally between law and banking. 




Bammy, the Wheel-horse in Our Conjugal Team 



Page One Hundred Thirty-Nine 

FROM 1865 TO 1895 

On my return to this city later I bought the Exchange 
— now the American Exchange National, the largest 
bank in the State. 

In 1880 I purchased a home in a distant Northern 
city; a residence here for much of the time since has 
been kept up. In 1891 one of the largest Trust 
Companies in this Northern city, — whose President, 
also a railroad President, was overworked and de- 
sired to go abroad for a much-needed rest, — offered 
me the Presidency and I accepted it. Not regarding 
my position as permanent, I, on going in, invested less 
than one-tenth of my moderate means in the stock of 
the Trust Company. This company began business 
with one million dollars paid-up capital, and it had 
been doing business but six months when I came in. 
From par In the beginning the stock had in the six 
months slightly declined. At the end of my first 
year I was induced to serve as President for another 
term. At the end of my second year, as nine-tenths 
of my limited fortune was Invested in cattle ranches 
in Texas, and as my heart was there, I permanently 
retired, the company being good enough to retain a 
vacancy for me for about eighteen months, after 
which time my place was permanently filled by one 
of the best business men and lawyers I ever knew. 
The Directors after my retirement were good enough 
to send to me In my Southern home the following: 

"At a meeting of the Board of Directors of the 
Trust Company, held February 14, 1893, the report 



Page One Hundred Forty 
THE JOURNAL OP A GRANDFATHER 

of Special Committees being called for, the Chairman 
submitted the following: 

^^ Whereas, The Directors of the Trust Company, 
recognizing the eminent ability and especial fitness 
which our President has evinced in the management 
of the company's affairs, have accepted his resigna- 
tion with the greatest regret; and, congratulating 
themselves that he still retains his seat in the Direc- 
tory, and the company, and that it is to still have 
the benefit of his zeal and wise counsel, which has 
already in so conspicuous a manner had so much to 
do in achieving the marked prosperity of the com- 
pany: 

"Resolved, That the Board of Directors of the 
Trust Company tender to their late President their 
heartiest recognition of the service he has been to the 
company, and, recalling his administration, remem- 
ber him with unqualified pleasure, as not only an ex- 
tremely able leader and an agreeable business asso- 
ciate, but as the personal friend of every one of them, 
and they desire to express their best wishes for his 
future happiness and success. 

"Committee. 

''''Whereupon, It was moved and seconded that the 
report be received and spread upon our records, and 
a copy of it sent to our late President, which was 
unanimously adopted. 

"[Seal] 

"Attest: Secretary." 




An Only Child and Grandchild 



Page One Hundred Forty-One 

FROM 1865 TO 1895 

This Trust Company, now consolidated with an- 
other large Trust Company in the same city, is, I 
think, one of the most conservative and best managed 
companies in the world. It pays a four per cent divi- 
dend quarterly, and besides its five million capital 
and over six million surplus it has now near two hun- 
dred millions in trust estates. 

For twelve years, to be with an only child and 
grandchild, we lived in Colorado. I have also man- 
aged to keep up, through all the years, my Southern 
home and my interest in the cowboy and in Cowboy 
Land, and nothing delights me more, to this day, than 
to live at least a portion of the time at the old home- 
place, and to camp and coach in this, to me, delightful 
Cowboy Land. 



CHAPTER EIGHT 

COACHING IN COWBOY LAND 

I AM not presuming to pose here as a Coaching 
Man. My coaching has been in the main a half- 
Gipsy kind of Hfe with the persons and things 
I love. I am not a naturalist, yet I have always 
been an ardent lover of Nature, and I am never so 
happy as when I am close to her. 

"O Nature! Mother Nature! Thou 
Another Bible art! and ever 
Wilt teach as thou hast taught till now 
And bloom with God to perish never." 

The extent, too, to which I am indebted to my 
companions of the brute creation (so-called) that 
I always take with me, can not be overestimated. 
My dogs — of which I always take a pair — and my 
horses love me. The former are ready at any time 
to give up their lives for me and mine, and both on 
these joumeyings in the wild, although free to go 
where they please, stay close about us. 

It is the persons and the things you love and 
that love you, and that are a part and parcel of 



Page One Hundred Forty-Four 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

your daily life, that count and make you happy. 
Because I can. have these all the time with me, and 
a friend or twO' besides, is why I prefer my st)4e of 
coaching — if coaching it can be called — to the more 
showy and pretentious sort — of which so many de- 
lightful books have been written. 

If there is a more delightful way of journeying 
than to coach and camp in a new unsettled and in- 
teresting country, I have not found it. 

Private coaching, in the proper acceptation of 
the term, as practiced by coaching men in this coun- 
try, England and France, is an elaborate and some- 
what expensive affair. Mr. Farriman Rogers, in 
f90i, published in this country and in England "A 
Manual of Coaching." A friend of mine, who, with 
his charming wife, had before that time spent some 
happy days with me both on and off a coach, sent me 
a copy. This book is on a shelf within easy reach of 
my arm as I write. Turning to the chapter on pri- 
vate coaching, I find he says: 

"When a man starts with his coach and horses, 
from his own home, few preparations are necessary 
beyond laying out the route and making arrange- 
ments ahead at the stopping places. It is necessary, 
if the party is at all large, to have the heavier bag- 
gage sent on by a messenger, day by day, but where 
that is not possible it must be dispatched to some 
point ahead, and the travelers must content them- 
selves with modest valises. 




u 



Page One Hundred Forty-Five 

COACHING IN COWBOY LAND 

"With a good team, carefully driven, from twen- 
ty to twenty-five miles a day can be easily made over 
good roads for an indefinite time. In England and 
in France, where the roads are admirable, the inns 
good, and the stopping places near together, coaching 
trips can be readily arranged. The cost of a trip 
varies with the locality, but the following list of ex- 
penses of a drive in the West of England, with a 
party of five, will give an idea of the expense : 

"Coach, horses (a single team) and two men, 42 
pounds a week (this includes the night stabling and 
feed) ; hotel bills, 38 pounds; fees at hotels, 2 pounds; 
railway fares for valet with baggage, 3 pounds; fees 
to coach men, 3 pounds; lunches and noon feeds for 
horses not included in the coach hire, 10 pounds; alto- 
gether, 98 pounds, about $484 per week. For a lar- 
ger party only the hotel bills will be increased, the 
other expenses will remain the same." 

This is all very delightful, as Mr. Rogers says. I 
know, for I have tried a little of it, and had I the 
time to spare from my own coaching, I might sigh 
for more. 

But it is not coaching of this kind that I shall write 
and reminisce of here. My coaching — except an oc- 
casional park drive or short country outing trip from 
my city home — has been entirely a different affair, 
costing little more per month than Mr. Rogers' esti- 
mate per day. If it has lacked the glamor and ro- 
mance that surrounds old English coaching days, it 



Page One Hundred Forty-Six 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

has provided quite as much excitement, incident and 
adventure. 

It is true, no Dick Turpin or other of his ilk ever 
stopped my coach on the public highway and required 
knight and lady to descend and tread for his or their 
amusement the stately minuet. Still, we too have 
had our road troubles. 

I have been doing in the Western wilds, for forty 
years, the kind of coaching that most appeals to me, 
and like the Cunard liners, I, too, could boast that in 
all that time I have never lost a passenger. Upon dif- 
ferent trips, however, I have lost about everything 
else. Upon one occasion I lost the coach and every- 
thing on board. My friends, including my good 
horses, we were fortunate enough to save. The lat- 
ter I hung onto until I freed them from their chains, 
when we all "pulled for the shore" together; the 
horses doing the pulling and I holding on to one by 
the tail. My other friends saved themselves, their 
own little handbags and mine. Everything else went 
down in the floods and quicksands of the Salt Fork 
of Red River In Texas. After the flood waters had 
subsided — which they did the same night — we found 
one little top corner of the old coach sticking above 
the treacherous quicksands. 

All the bedding, blankets, navajoes, guns, provi- 
sions and tent; folding chairs and table and our cook- 
ing utensils had gone with the flood of waters, never 
to be recovered or heard from. 



Page One Hundred Forty-Seven 

COACHING IN COWBOY LAND 

We dug three days after the coach, and the more 
■we dug the deeper it sank. Before we gave up the 
last vestige had long vanished from sight. If it kept 
settling, as I suppose it did, that old coach is in China 
now, or in some other hot place immediately under us. 

At another time the Kiowa Indians stole all of my 
horses on the headwaters of a stream in Young Coun- 
ty, Texas, and left me stranded two hundred miles 
from anywhere. 

"They paid ine then a bitter prank. 
At length I played them one as frank," 

of which I will speak later. 

Our coaching trips were usually combination ones; 
coaching, camping, shooting and fishing were com- 
bined with business. The size of our parties varied 
from two to five. Five was always the limit, as every 
one must on occasion have a horse to ride. The horses 
we always took along were carefully selected and ca- 
pable of doing the various things required of them 
both under the saddle and in harness. More than 
that, they were at home with and fond of the coach, 
and they stayed with and about it and us, even when 
turned loose upon the range. This they invariably 
did after the first few days out, and after they found 
there was feed for them in the big front boot of the 
coach. This boot would easily hold a month's rations 
of shelled corn. 

We always, too, made it a point to camp where 
the grass was good ; for upon this we chiefly relied for 



Page One Hundred Forty-Eight 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

subsistence for our horses, the grain taken along being 
little more than enough to put a good taste in their 
mouths and keep them from leaving us. Our coach- 
ing trips were often long, lasting sometimes for 
months. In our early days Bammy — as we call her 
now — then a blooming young woman and the best of 
wives, went with me. When a bit tired of the box on 
the overland coach, how we enjoyed our saddles on 
the leaders, and miles and miles on horseback riding 
ahead of the coach which, with the wheelers only, the 
dusky camp boy could well drive over all frontier 
roads without a thought from us. Later a young girl 
that has honored us by being our granddaughter has 
often been my sole companion, taking her Bammy's 
place. The granddaughter began our kind of coach- 
ing by the time she could walk and talk. "Kickem" 
— a name she gave herself before she could pronounce 
her proper one of Clifton — if not literally rocked in 
the cradle of a coach, was sleeping there nights long 
before she could dress herself. 

We always took a battery of guns along as much for 
our own defense as to supply our camp table, and for 
the shooting. Shooting is a less gentle art than fishing. 
Because of this, I think, we always enjoyed fishing 
rather the most. There is not one fish in a dozen 
that is painfully hooked. Nine times out of ten the 
hook catches him in the skin of the lip where there is 
no pain and often not a drop of blood drawn. It is 
more a game than anything else, and the fish seems to 



Page One Hundred Forty-Nine 

COACHING IN COWBOY LAND 

enjoy it about as much as you do. Bammy and I had 
great sport fishing the Wisconsin lakes for bass in our 
earlier days. When we would take in at one side of 
the boat a fish too small or that we did not need, we 
could generally pass him out unhurt on the other side, 
and this we always did. You can not do this sort of 
thing in shooting. The shotgun is too deadly. Because 
of this, while Kickem likes to break clay pigeons by 
the hour, and while I have seen her on extraordinary^ 
occasions, with her quick right and left after driving 
birds, will hold her own alongside of Tom Draw and 
Old Gramp, it is not often she can be induced to shoot 
live birds. 

The good four-in-hand team that Mr. Farriman 
Rogers speaks of, that can go twenty-five miles a day 
over all roads and keep it up indefinitely, and that are 
v,'ell broken and well matched, is something I have 
been unable to find, although hunting it all my coach- 
ing life. I was once interested in a large horse ranch 
in Montana. I concluded one summer that I would 
go up there and break me out a four to suit me. I 
sent up two weeks in advance of me Mr. Dennis, a 
friend of mine, one of the best handlers and judges of 
a horse, as well as one of the gamest men I ever knew. 
He was to get all ready and to help me in hitching and 
breaking a four. 

Some years before, in buying a cattle ranch in 
Texas, we got with it between two and three hundred 
large, well-bred American mares. As they were rath- 



Page One Hundred Fifty 
THE JOURNAL OP A GRANDFATHER 

cr in the way in Texas, we had fiv^e or six years before 
put them in with a cattle herd we were driving over- 
land to Montana. We turned them loose on box 
elder and the Little Missouri River close to where we 
had our cattle ranch, importing from Germany to put 
with them some Oldenburg coach stallions, quite six- 
teen hands high and upheaded with line knee action. 

My plan was to be at this ranch by the time they 
began to bring in the several bunches for the yearly 
marking and branding of the colts, so that we could 
see all of the horses, and I could make my selection 
of the kind and type I wanted. This branding work 
was always done at ranch headquarters, where the 
fences were so high and strong the horses could 
neither break them down nor jump over them. This 
branding work usually took a week or two, and it em- 
ployed for the time being all the hands upon the 
ranch, the cattle men included. 

I, with an old gentle four, reached headquarters by 
prearrangement the night before this branding work 
was to begin, driving the one hundred and seventy- 
live miles from the railroad at Belle Fourche in about 
a week, with a friend, John S., and a camp boy in a 
big, strong, old four-horse army ambulance. John S. 
and I at night slept in the ambulance, the camp boy 
and dogs on some blankets under it. We camped, of 
course ; in fact, there was but one house on the whole 
read. As we never stopped at houses in our outings, 
the fewer of them on the road the better for us. It 
made our journey all the more picturesque. 



Page One Hundred Fifty-One 

COACHING IN COWBOY LAND 

We arrived at the ranch the night before the work 
with the horses began. The next morning Mr. Den- 
nis and myself mounted the high fence. Soon we se- 
lected a big, fine upheaded four-year-old bay, with 
fine knee action and black points. In two days we had 
selected a dozen more of his type and color, all look- 
ing about as much alike as that many red cherries. 
We had the dozen roped and tied securely in the big 
strong stable. It was Dennis' work to do the prelim- 
inary lot breaking, and mine to take the horse and 
drive him in the four as soon as he would stand with 
the harness on long enough to hitch him in. 

On the morning of the second day I hitched my 
first wild horse with three of my old gentle ones, and 
drove them all twenty-five miles and brought him back 
at night a tired and, for the time, a gentle coach 
horse. The next morning I took a second wild one, 
keeping in the one of the day before, and driving two 
gentle and two wild ones another good day's drive. I 
v/as getting on swimmingly and counted on a good 
high-acting, well-matched young four at the end of 
two more days, and I would have had It but for a sad 
misadventure the next morning. 

Dennis had picked up an outlaw tramp, and hired 
him to help in the barn with the horses we had caught 
up. The morning I was to have my third horse I and 
my friend John S. were late to breakfast. Charlie, 
the new man, had taken John S.'s seat at the table. 
Dennis had told him "to get up and take another" — 
adding more in jest than earnest — "if he did not want 



Page One Hundred Fifty-Two 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

to be kicked." Charlie resented the remark, ate his 
breakfast, not speaking a word, finished and went out 
to the stable in advance of Dennis, got his pistol from 
his grip and put it in the bosom of his shirt. 

As Dennis walked into the barn, seeing Charlie 
standing in a sulky way, he said in a good-humored, 
jovial tone: 

"Charlie, what are you sulking about?" 

"I would like to see the man that can kick me," 
answered Charlie. 

"No one wants to kick you ; my remark was but a 
half-jesting one." At this Charlie walked right up to 
Dennis and said in the most insulting manner, with 
an ugly oath : 

"No man can kick me." 

Dennis, now provoked, and much of a man him- 
self, slapped Charlie to the floor with his open hand. 
Charlie got up, turned his back and walked away, 
Dennis following, thinking he was after a pitchfork 
that stood by the stalls, meaning if he got it to catch 
and disarm him. Charlie, meantime, as he turned his 
back, unbuttoned the bosom of his shirt, got hold of 
his pistol, turned quickly and fired. As he did so 
Dennis grabbed the muzzle to turn it away from him- 
self, but he was too late, the first shot passing through 
Dennis' body. Charlie kept firing, the two men all 
the time scuffling over the pistol. Dennis received 
three of the shots, Charlie two. 

Both men were shot through the body. As we ran 



Page One Hundred Fifty-Three 

COACHING IN COWBOY LAND 

into the stable both were lying on the floor, bleeding, 
speechless and dying as we supposed. The weather 
was hot, flies swarmed by day and mosquitoes by 
night. No ice and no doctors nearer than the rail- 
road, one hundred and seventy-five miles away, that 
I had left ten days before. I at once put my gentle 
wheel horses tO' my ambulance, put Dennis upon a 
mattress in it, took water and such little provisions 
as we could gather up and started with him. A vet- 
erinary surgeon that we had at the ranch following 
with Charlie on a mattress in his spring wagon. I 
v/alked my horses every step of the way, as Dennis' 
groans from the jolts of a faster gait, showed that to 
go out of a walk would be impossible. 

When we started we did not think either man could 
live an hour. Both were alive when we reached Belle 
Fourche, after a little more than two days and nights. 
Dennis, my good friend, now lives in a neighboring 
city and comes occasionally to see me, and as I take 
him out in the park behind the horses, we talk of old 
times and the four we might have had. Charlie, 
after he recovered, was hung by the authorities, as I 
learned, for murders he had committed before we 
took such pains to save his worthless life. Meantime 
1 have coached on without a four, quite to my liking. 

For more than a third of a century I have been 
interested in the range cattle industry. The Western 
frontier, from Texas to Montana, is the cowboy land 
of America. During all of this time one of my chief 



Page One Hundred Fifty-Four 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

pleasures has been to journey almost annually through 
some part of this land. 

For this journey I usually took what The Abbott- 
Downing Company, the great overland Concord 
coach builders, call a mud wagon. Like their over- 
land coaches, this wagon was hung on broad leather 
thorough-braces. It had a covered top, high wide 
front seat for the driver, a large boot under the 
driver's seat, and another large covered boot behind. 
It was a bit lighter than the regular Concord overland 
stagecoach. It ran like a top, and was made to pull 
through the mud, and to stand the rough mountain 
and plains country roads. Abbott and Downing, now 
the Abbott-Downing Company, of Concord, New 
Hampshire, for a hundred years have had the mo- 
nopoly in overland coach-building. Four light horses 
could pull the mud wagon where any wheel vehicle 
could go; then, too, if you had the misfortune to lose 
or have disabled a part of your team, two of them (as 
I have more than once found) could pull this mud 
wagon at slow stages even hundreds of miles, until 
more horses could be had. If there is a better place 
for two people to sleep at night upon the road, or a 
better light portable fort against sudden attack, than 
one of these wagons, I have never found it. 

The Abbott-Downing Company in later days have 
always made my overland coaches expressly for me, 
built so the Inside seats at each end pulled together 
and made a bed like a section in a Pullman car. There 
was a glass window at each side that you could drop 




J 



< 



Page One Hundred Fifty-Five 

COACHING IN COWBOY LAND 

down inside the wooden panel of the body and shoot 
from, if need be. With one of these coaches, a com- 
panion and a camp boy, I was always comfortable 
upon the road. We camped out and staked or hob- 
bled our horses on the grass at night; at mid- 
day we lunched by the wayside. Our baggage 
and supplies were carried in the large rear boot. Our 
tent was wrapped around the tent poles and pegs and 
strapped along the sides. We, with our guns and a 
pair of hunting dogs of my own breeding (something 
I never went without) occupied the interior when not 
driving upon the front box seat. At night I slept in 
the wagon, the dogs upon the outside of the blankets 
at my feet. Thus equipped, with a saddled horse to 
follow, or be led if need be, and the leaders fair sad- 
dle horses, and an extra saddle or two in the hind 
boot, it has been my custom for my summer and fall 
outings to journey through and visit my own and the 
other great ranches scattered through this interesting 
country. 

The country of the great plains, beginning on the 
gulf coast of Texas, south of San Antonio, and 
stretching north nearly two thousand miles, is the 
cowboy land of America. This strip of country lies 
just east of the Rocky Mountain range and averages 
some five hundred miles In width. It is known as 
the range cattle belt, and extends through Western 
Texas, N'ew Mexico, Colorado, Arizona, Western 
Kansas, Western Nebraska, Wyoming, Montana and 
the Dakotas. 



Page One Hundred Fifty-Six 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

Equipped with wagon, ponies, a kodak and a camp 
outfit, a journey through this great plains country 
gives a delightful summer outing. The sun shines 
warm at midday, but the mornings and evenings are 
pleasant and the nights delightfully cool. To see it at 
its best one wants to enter the range cattle belt on the 
gulf coast of Texas in the spring when the cow- 
man's work begins, and journey north with the 
seasons. 

Almost all of the large cattle ranches of North 
America were in the southern portion of this belt. 
The King ranch, one of the largest and oldest, is on 
the gulf coast of Texas. Here, too, and almost ad- 
joining the King ranch, was the old Kennedy ranch, 
located in an early day by Capt. Kennedy. King and 
Kennedy were wealthy pioneer ranchmen in Texas in 
the early days, and were friends and neighbors and 
for many years partners. Both Capt. Kennedy and 
Capt. King are now dead, but the King family still 
own and live upon the King ranch. This ranch is 
one of the most princely estates in America. Its hun- 
dreds of thousands of acres are divided and subdi- 
vided into many pastures. The cattle on it are highly 
improved from the old days. 

In this vicinity, too, were other large ranches, 
among them that of the Coleman-Fulton Pasture 
Company, also on the gulf coast and near Aransas 
Pass and Rockport, all owned by wealthy English or 
American gentlemen 

This portion of the United States is the sportsman's 



Page One Hundred Fifty-Seven 

COACHING m COWBOY LAND 

paradise. Aransas Pass affords the best tarpon fish- 
ing in the world. The local boatman will guarantee 
that the skilled and properly equipped fisherman will 
hook from one to five tarpon per day. The winter 
shooting, too, is of the best. Quail — the game little 
Bob White — are plentiful upon the uplands, and wild 
fowl fill the bays and inlets. 

Journeying up the trail farther north in Texas one 
comes upon other large ranches, viz.. The Espuella, 
The Matador, The Continental, The Capital Syndi- 
cate and others. Three of the last named contained 
each near one million acres of land and twenty-five 
thousand head of improved cattle. The last named 
contained over three million acres. The Goodnight 
was one of the handsomest and best improved ranches 
in the range cattle belt. Mr. Goodnight has upon his 
ranch a private park of several thousand acres, where 
buffalo, elk and deer are bred and domesticated. 

The Espuella and Matador were owned by English 
companies. The Palo Duro by an English lady, Mrs. 
C. Adair. The Capital Syndicate ranch was owned 
largely by the Farwells of Chicago. The Continental 
Land and Cattle Company's ranch, called the Mill 
Iron, is owned by a stock company. The Continental 
ranch kept two large kennels of hounds. Two packs 
were run every day in the year over different parts of 
the range, under mounted and paid employes, for 
the destruction of wolves. Before hounds were kept 
the Continental estimated its loss annually from 



Page One Hundred Fifty-Eight 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

wolves at 3,000 to 4,000 young calves. Wolves are 
the bane of the cow business. Their ravages upon 
the Dakota and Montana ranches were great. They 
are so exceedingly smart and cunning It Is almost Im- 
possible to poison them. 

For almost fifty years Texas has been the chief 
rattle-producing state In the Union. It is the great 
cattle reservoir of the country. Annually, for more 
than a quarter of a century, a steady stream of from 
three to five hundred thousand cattle poured over the 
trail north into Colorado, Kansas, Wyoming and 
Montana. Before the days of railroads the South- 
ern cow-men traversed these great Western plains, 
following every northward trail, fording and swim- 
ming with his herds every stream from the Red River 
of the South to the Red River of the North. His 
stampeding herds and the wild halloo and ready re- 
volver of his cowboys awakened the echoes of every 
hillside and canyon from the Colorado to Canada. 

In 1845, when Texas became a state of the Ameri- 
can Union, her 165,000,000 acres of grazing lands 
were fairly well stocked with a hardy breed of Mexi- 
can and Spanish cattle. These cattle were a wiry, 
nervy, long-horned breed, but they were well suited 
to their environment. They were the only breed per- 
haps that could have then subsisted and protected 
itself and Its young amid the wild surroundings of 
the frontier ranges. It is a well-known fact that the 
wild Mexican or Spanish cattle have much stronger 



Page One Hundred Fifty-Nine 

COACHING IN COWBOY LAND 

maternal instincts than have the improved breeds. 
It is also admitted by cow-men that native or im- 
proved cattle upon ranges where wolves abound will 
raise nothing like the percentage of calves that the 
common cattle will. Improved cattle are not so ready 
with hoof and horn. Besides, it is also a well ob- 
served fact that they have not the same affection for 
their offspring. A cow of the improved breeds, if de- 
prived of her calf, will often not mourn for it a day, 
while a "long-horn," whose calf dies or is lost upon 
the trail, will, in spite of the herders, escape at the 
first opportunity and return, if need be, a hundred 
miles to the spot where the calf was last seen. The 
common cow will also, regardless of odds, fight for 
her calf to the last gasp. 

It is surprising with what promptness these com- 
mon or wild cattle will rally and rush to the point 
of danger at the first alarm. The call of a frightened 
calf left by its mother asleep in the weeds; the scent 
or sight of blood ; even a shrunken cow's hide or bunch 
of hair, is often enough to cause the greatest fury and 
consternation in the herd, and to bring nishing to- 
gether a wild-eyed bellowing lot of furies. 

The range cattle business is attractive, it is fasci- 
nating, particularly to young men fond of out-of-door 
Hie and bold riding. No cross-country chase or polo 
field affords better opportunity for display of skilled 
horsemanship than does the cattleman's round-up, 
with its separating or cutting, as it is called. 



Page One Hundred Sixty 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

No out-of-door business has In It more that Is ex- 
hilarating, healthful and attractive, and when prop- 
erly managed it has always been profitable. The boom 
prices of a few years ago, coupled with extravagant 
management in the large corporations that rushed 
into the business, paying often five dollars an acre for 
unwatered and unfenced Western lands, and twenty 
dollars a head for common cattle, brought stockhold- 
ers to grief and bankrupted companies, yet the busi- 
ness is still popular and profitable. 

In all of this range country, where millions have 
been lost in high-priced pasture lands overstocked 
with high-priced cattle, the individual who has held 
on to his cattle and had grass for them, has come 
through all right. He is about the only man, too, 
in all this range country that has come through all 
right financially. 

The business Is a very simple one. To care for, 
keep within reasonable bounds and preserve the in- 
signia of ownership (the brand burned in the hides) 
upon the vast herds of cattle that roam these bound- 
less and treeless plains, little other provision Is need- 
ed than the cowboy with his pony, lariat and branding 
iron. The pony is the factor in all ranch work. 
Everything is done on horseback. 

The intelligence and activity of these ponies is sur- 
prising. A single herder on these vast plains, with 
only his pony and his lariat, is quite able to catch, 
throw, tie and brand the largest and wildest steer. 



Page One Hundred Sixty-One 

COACHING IN COWBOY LAND 

It is but the work of a moment. A quick and spirited 
dash of the active Httle horse brings the rider within 
a few paces of the fleeing long-horn. Rising in his 
stirrups, with a swing or two of his coiled rope, the 
coil and loop shoot from the loosened grasp of the 
right hand and settles with unerring aim over the 
head, horns or heels, as the aim may be, of the luck- 
less steer. 

The struggle for supremacy is short and decisive. 
Like the expert angler, the trained little fourteen-hand 
horse — for he is scarcely ever more than that — no 
sooner feels the line begin to run out and tighten than 
he, by a quick movement or half circle, gradually 
takes up the slack and begins to brace himself for the 
coming struggle. Many a lost prize, shock or tumble, 
has taught this four-footed prairie angler^ — as it has 
the expert bass, salmon and tarpon fisherman — that 
slacks are of all things to be avoided. Tumbles and 
sommersaults, vAth. mangled limbs and broken bones 
for both horse and rider, are the almost certain re- 
sults of a failure to keep a taut line after the cast is 
made and the prize struck. 

Before the lariat is thrown one end of it is always 
fastened to the horn of the saddle. These saddles are 
carefully and strongly made and are capable of with- 
standing any jerk or strain. They are securely fast- 
ened upon the back of the horse by two wide and 
strong girths, usually made of hair. One girth is 
worn in the ordinary fashion back of the forelegs, the 
other is placed back in the flank. 



Page One Hundred Sixty-Two 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

The wild steer of the plains often weighs twelve 
hundred pounds. The pony used in roping him rarely 
exceeds seven hundred pounds weight. No peaceful 
pursuit in American life calls for more fearlessness 
and nerve, more hardship and hazard, than does that 
of the cowboy. 

A steer weighing more than half a ton, on the wide 
prairie, running, plunging and bellowing, securely 
fastened to a seven hundred-pound pony and a hun- 
dred and twenty-five-pound cowboy, is a sight to be 
met with daily in these regions. The position is a 
perilous one. Great nerve; and cool careful watch- 
fulness on the part of both horse and rider alone pre- 
vent disaster — destruction even. From the moment 
the coiled rope leaves the rider's grasp the sagacious 
little pony's strained attention is never for an instant 
taken from the work in hand. 

By swift moves and counter moves, circling, run- 
ning and halting, the wild long-horn by a sudden trip 
and pull is thrown. The cowboy at once springs from 
his pony, leaving the fight for the time being to the 
little horse, his faithful ally. This active little animal, 
with a wonderful exhibition of nerve and sagacity, 
sees to it that the steer does not regain his feet. With 
a final jerk and pull that throws the steer, the pony 
suddenly wheels face to the work and braces himself. 
With extended forelegs, eye and ear to the front, he 
keeps up the fight. The intelligent little animal ex- 
hibits in every glance, breath and motion how he feels 
the responsibility of the position. The fight, the vie- 



Page One Hundred Sixty-Three 

COACHING IN COWBOY LAND 

tory, the life and limb of master and horse, are for 
the time in the sole keeping of this little four-foot. 
Extended nostril, anxious eye, panting sides and back- 
ward pulls and plunges to keep the rope taut, show 
how he fully realizes the responsibility. Pretty soon 
the dismounted cowboy with another rope has tied the 
legs of the struggling animal, applied the brand, and 
so adjusted the pony's rope that it can be cast off at 
will and the maddened steer, loosened v/hen the rider 
has regained his pony, and is once more in a safe po- 
sition in the saddle. 

The cowboy's "mount," as it is called, consists of a 
string of eight or ten ponies. He uses them in rota- 
tion, or according to the requirements of the business. 
Hard riding is the order of the day, or of the work 
rather, so eight or ten horses are really required to 
each herder. Sometimes four or five are used up by 
one rider in a single day. When a fresh horse is 
needed in exchange for the tired one; the man in 
:harge of the horse herd — called the horse wrangler 
— driv^es the bunch of fresh horses near to the work 
and each man proceeds to change, turning his tired 
horse in with the loose bunch, not to be used again 
until fully rested and freshened by the nutritious wild 
mesquite grass of the plains. As grain is rarely ever 
fed, the horses are seldom ever injured by hard rid- 
ing. These game little animals go till their strength 
is exhausted. A night's rest brings them all right 
again. 



Page One Hundred Sixty-Four 
THE JOURNAL OP A GRANDFATHER 

The cowboy is always a good rider. He is one of 
the very best in the world. The world's good riders 
greatly differ in style of mount, in saddle, in bridle 
?nd general equipment. All are good in their way 
and kind, and comparisons are difficult. The English 
and American gentlemen who ride the flat pigskin 
saddle with separate rein for curb and snaffle, do well 
enough in the polo field and when riding to hounds 
across country, over wall and ditch. But if you put 
these English or American gentlemen with their flat 
saddles on smart cow ponies at a cattle round-up, they 
would part company with the pony at the first turn 
nfter a lively yearling. The saddle and seat, the 
manner of riding and turning are so wholly different. 
A cow pony chasing a steer upon the plains, ridden 
v/ith a single rein and heavy curb, turns much shorter 
and quicker than a hunter or a pony on the polo field 
after a ball. If the steer turns quickly to the right, the 
well-trained pony turns as quickly to the left. In this 
way he comes round in the face of the steer, meeting 
him as it were. The pony swings round, too, with 
his hind legs bent well under him, his rump almost 
touching the ground and used apparently as a pivot 
to turn on. The cross-country rider or polo player 
always rides the flat English saddle. His seat is well 
back and his stirrups well forward. His position 
when in the saddle is not unlike that of a frog on a 
shovel. The cowboy, on the contrary, stands rather 
than sits in his saddle. His saddle is deep with high 



Page One Hundred Sixty-Five 

COACHING IN COWBOY LAND 

pommel and cantle. His stirrups are long, well back 
and directly under him. His head, seat and heels are 
in a vertical line. His saddle is fastened to the pony's 
back by a powerful double girth or cinch, placed fore 
and aft, so that it is almost impossible for it to turn 
or move. The cowboy saddle is the best for his work. 
It is well made and high priced, costing all the way 
from fifty to one hundred dollars. 

The Arab, the Cossack, the Bedouin, the American 
plains Indian and the cowboy are all great riders. 
In fact, the children of the desert and the plains are 
the great riders of the world, and they are all pastoral 
in habits and tastes, and all save the Indian are cattle 
raisers. It is life with and upon the back of the horse 
that makes the great rider. Saddles have not much 
to do with it. A Cossack will perform miracles upon 
a saddle that looks like a sawbuck astride the horse's 
back, and an Indian of the great American Desert will 
perform as great miracles riding bareback with a mere 
rawhide thong around the horse's lower jaw to steady 
him. All of the big ranches keep one man who is 
usually a bold and fearless rider. He is called the 
"broncho-buster," It is his business to ride all of the 
spoiled or bad horses. These horses are called out- 
laws, or "bronchos." When it comes to riding and 
sticking to a horse's back the "broncho-buster" bears 
the palm over all the rough and ready riders of the 
world. Whenever, after continued jumping and buck- 
ing, the outlaw fails to throw his rider, he will either 



Page One Hundred Sixty-Six 
THE JOURNAL OP A GRANDFATHER 

give up (and vent his disappointment in a wild kind 
of despairing cry, or bawl, that can be heard a mile, 
r.nd which is wholly unlike any other cry that ever 
came from man or beast), or he will rear up and at- 
tempt to fall back upon him. The "broncho-buster'* 
always avoids the backward fall by half turning in 
his deep saddle, depending upon the high horn and 
cantle to protect him and to bear the brunt and weight 
of the fall. The average ranch cowboy is, however, 
always an active worker and a bold, fearless operator 
if you will but put him on horseback. He is nothing 
afoot. Mounted he is a born crusader. The rela- 
tions between him and his favorite pony are of the 
closest. Each has the utmost confidence in the nerve 
of the other, and knows just what the other can do, 
and will do in any given emergency. It is a mutual 
trust that neither ever betrays. They almost daily 
risk life and limb together. A failure in promptness 
or nerve upon the part of either may cost both their 
lives. The smartest, most intelligent and best ponies 
are always reserved for the roping, separating or cut- 
ting, as it is called. The smartest of all is held in re- 
serve by the cowboy for great occasions, for the an- 
nual tournament, for the deadly night ride before a 
wild stampeding herd, or for the round-up or roping 
contest witnessed by a crowd, in which there is sure to 
be a proud sister or sweetheart. The round-up is the 
great occasion. It is the gathering on some level flat 
or plain for the purpose of separating them — of all of 



Page One Hundred Sixty-Seven 

COACHING IN COWBOY LAND 

the cattle for miles around. The foreman of the 
ranch, where it is held, or a captain appointed for 
the purpose, always plans and superintends this mi- 
portant movement. If the round-up happens to be in 
the vicinity of the settlements the women and children 
attend as well as the men. The young women always 
go on horseback. The remainder of the population go 
any way they can find transportation. This round-up 
affords the only dramatic entertainment the country 
enjoys. The night before, or very early the same 
morning, the captain sends a number of men to all 
points of the compass. As soon as it is light they all 
start to drive the cattle to a common center previously 
designated. The time and distance are so adjusted 
that the cattle and drivers from all points reach the 
center before midday so there will be time to "work 
cut the round-up," as they call it. It is an interesting 
sight to be early on the round-up ground and see the 
cattle begin to come in over hill and through valley 
from all directions. They come by tens, by hundreds 
and by thousands. 

When the cattle are all collected upon the round-up 
ground the work of separating begins. A part of the 
mounted herders stand guard, as it were, and hold 
the big herd together, while other mounted men pro- 
ceed to work the cattle — that is, to ride into and 
through the herd and take out of it the cattle that are 
wanted. This taking out of the cattle is called cutting. 
It is done on horseback and always by a single rider. 



Page One Hundred Sixty-Eight 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

If two or more mounted men are cutting at the same 
time, they each cut different animals. They never at- 
tempt, as a rule, to help each other. This separating 
or cutting of the cattle is a beautiful sight. One sees 
here as fine riding as can be witnessed anywhere. For 
this kind of work the best men are selected and the 
best horses. The cowboy who does the cutting, 
mounted on a smart pony, rides quietly into the herd 
till the eye falls upon the animal he wants. He then 
slowly drives it near the edge of the herd. The smart 
pony before going ten steps knows the particular ani- 
mal wanted as well as his rider does, so he is alert and 
watches for an opportunity. When it comes, as it does 
soon, the pony springs forward at a signal from its 
rider, and gets the animal separated from the bunch. 
It is now the fine riding and the fun begins. The cow 
(or steer as the case may be) not liking to leave the 
herd, will run, twist and turn in the liveliest fashion. 
It is usually all to no purpose. Rider and horse turn 
as it turns, run with it, always keeping between it and 
the herd. Pretty soon the beaten and discouraged ani- 
mal gives up the contest and trots off to be held alone 
or with a small bunch a little distance from the main 
herd. This cutting is kept up until the large herd is 
thoroughly worked out; that is, divided into small 
bunches, or separated as desired. The entire crowd 
then, excepting the few hands needed to hold the sev- 
eral small bunches of cattle, repair to the "chuck 
wagon," as it is called, for lunch, and the round-up 
is over. 



Page One Hundred Sixty-Nine 

COACHING IN COWBOY LAND 

The range cattle business, like everything else, is 
evolving. The days of the big ranches are numbered. 
The tendency is toward smaller pastures and better 
improved cattle. The value of individualism in land 
holding is also being recognized by the government. 
Corporations can not buy lands in the northern por- 
tion of the range belt. It is all reserved for homes for 
the actual settler. The State of Texas will no longer 
sell her grazing lands to corporations. 

The Texan was the pioneer ranchman. If he is not 
a direct descendant of Abraham, he is at least a veri- 
table Jacob. If asked, he to his Lord might, like Ja- 
cob, say: "Thy servant's trade hath been about cattle 
from our youth even until now — both w^e and also our 
fathers." He, too, is usually in love with his business. 
He rarely ever \villingly quits it. Having once en- 
joyed the free life, the high altitude, the pure air, the 
boundless, billowy ocean plain, no "Land of Goshen" 
ever after lures him. 




CC 



U 



CHAPTER NINE 

COTTONWOOD RANCH 

WE liked best to visit the Southern ranches 
in the winter time. Cottonwood, situ- 
ated in the Panhandle of Texas, on the 
line of the Indian Territory, was our 
favorite place. For several years we found it most 
delightful to go there from our Northern home to 
spend the Christmas holidays, taking the family, two 
or three servants, my pet brace of pointers, and often 
a friend or two. While shooting was never the chief 
object of the visit, the fact that we could find there 
both prairie chicken and quail in abundance gave it an 
added charm for me. Not that I cared so much for 
the shooting; what I particularly liked was to take a 
gun and a quiet horse, when I felt in the mood, and 
ride out alone or in company and see the dogs work. 
I never made big bags, having no use for the game, 
so, after two or three brace to my gun, I was always 
willing to go in. 

Our house at Cottonwood was two or three miles 
from the ranch house. It was located beside a large 



Page One Hundred Seventy-Two 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

spring with a little lake by it in a cottonwood grove. 
The house was in a natural depression, and neither it 
nor the big old cottonwood trees — centuries old from 
appearance — could be seen until you were almost on 
top of them. When I first saw the natural charm of 
the place and its seclusion, I built more to have there 
a kind of shooting box than a ranch house. We have 
kept this place for our exclusive use ever since. The 
ranch house in plain view to passers and all the sur- 
rounding country, we have found a great protection 
and advantage, furnishing us ready aid when needed, 
and to passing travelers that free hospitality so neces- 
sary to wandering cowboys or stockmen, who chance 
to be caught out by storm or nightfall. 

It was principally at Cottonwood that Kickem early 
acquired that ready proficiency in wing shooting that 
upon more than one occasion has afforded me pleasure, 
and enabled her to so well hold her own with me in 
shooting company. I fear I will yet in this journal 
write of some of these shootings. But, of the dogs 
first. 

Early in the eighties, I made my first trip to 
England, bringing back with me five young point- 
ers: Meteor, Maxim, Flash III, Beta, and another 
pointer bitch — the name of which I do not now recall, 
for the reason, I gave her to a shooting friend on 
my landing in New York. The others I kept. All 
became somewhat famous in American pointer an- 
nals; Maxim and Meteor particularly so. They 



Page One Hundred Seventy-Three 

WINTER ON A RANCH 

won first and second on the bench at Cincinnati, 
Saint Louis, New York and in Canada, and they 
3lso won In the field trials. Among their other 
prizes, Maxim won, at Saint Louis, the Globe-Demo- 
crat's gold and silver dog collar, valued ^at $150. 
After they won first and second in the New York 
Dog Show, J. M. Tracy— the best of all American 
animal painters— himself a sportsman with whom I 
have passed some pleasant days chicken shooting 
over dogs in Minnesota— sketched them. He made 
them the subject of his grand painting "Close 
Work," Meteor on a point, Maxim backing. Mr. 
IVacy sent me a letter and with it a photograph of 
the painting. The canvas was large, five by seven 
feet, the dogs life-size. I tried to buy this painting 
when it was sent to Saint Louis and shown at one 
of the big Art Exhibitions. Should I ever find or 
hear of it again, I am sure to make another at- 
tempt to purchase it. 

In color, the dogs were liver and white, evenly 
marked, perfect in conformation and grand in every 
way. They were Mr. Pilkington's entries for the 
Derby in England when I bought them. Mr. Pilking- 
ton was in those days the most famous pointer 
breeder in all England, I think, in all the world. 
From this stock, I have always kept a brace of 
handsome pointers as companions, and for my own 
shooting. 

Meteor and Maxim I always called Dot and 



Page One Hundred Seventy-Four 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

Dan. For kennel and field work, I always pre- 
ferred these to their registered names, and I have 
from 1880 kept a Dot and Dan about me, and I 
always will. By the time one brace ages and wears 
out, I have another coming on, selected from a 
late litter, as much like the old ones as can be. I 
always keep at our shooting place a pointer bitch 
or two of the old strain for emergencies and for 
breeding purposes. To thus be able to keep a Dot 
and Dan has meant so much to me. 

Kickem's shooting education came about in this 
way: One fall when she was ten years of age and 
at school in the North, she was taken down with 
;i severe attack of pneumonia. After her recovery, 
the attending physician said she must have no more 
school for that year and advised us to take here to 
the southern ranch for the winter; and, in fine weather 
especially, to keep her outdoors and on horseback. 

We took the doctor's advice, and at Cottonwood, 
as much for the athletics of the thing as for any- 
thing else, and to fill the place of the school gym- 
nasium — to which I always attached the greatest im- 
portance for her — I began in the big room by the 
open fire to teach her to handle a gun. I would 
several times a day, and sometimes at night before 
bedtime, take down from over the fire, one of my 
pair of light English shotguns and put her through 
her paces, as it were. I had her carefully observe 
from the first all the safeguards so necessary to the 



Page One Hundred Seventy-Five 

WINTER ON A RANCH 

proper handling of a gun ; teaching at the same time, 
the etiquette of the field, and that careful handling 
and bearing so indispensable to safety in all wing 
shooting, without the knowledge and observ-ance of 
which, no one can be other than a menace and a 
nuisance In shooting company. In fact, the finished 
sportsman always proclaims himself by every move 
he makes in the shooting field, from his first taking 
up the gun ; no words are needed, all sportsmen read 
him well without them. 

About the time I began to school my Chum In the 
"manual of the piece," by some misadventure a black 
spot, about the size of a nickel, attached itself to 
the right side of my nose (liver spots old-fashioned 
doctors used to call them). I would always have 
KIckem aim at this spot, I looking along the barrel 
from my end to see just how good her aim was. 

We always used empty shells of course; I taking 
care no other kind were about the Immediate prem- 
ises; as I had no notion of having my nose or head 
blown off. So, in our practice, I would have KIckem 
stand facing me little more than a gun's length away, 
and at the word "Ready!" she would stand in proper 
position, the breach of the gun below the elbow. At 
the word "Pull!" she would bring the gun as quickly 
as possible to the shoulder and instantly fire, aiming 
at my black spot; the caps on the empty shells snap- 
ping in a most lively sort of way and with quite a 
little report as she pulled the trigger. As the caps 



Page One Hundred Seventy- Six 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

snapped it was apparent just how quickly the snaps 
came after the word "Pull 1" If the cap did not snap 
at the first sight, I fussed, of course. 

Before going to Cottonwood on this particular trip, 
having all of this schooling in view, I had ordered 
a barrel of clay pigeons sent down and a trap to 
throw them. After my pupil, with all this prelim- 
inary practice, had become fairly proficient in the 
quick pulling up and in aiming the light shotgun she 
always used, I put her to shooting at clay pigeons 
from a trap set back to the house, just by the porch 
outside the door. Kickem was required to shoot at 
ten flying clay birds every morning and evening. As 
an inducement to the practice, I promised that, when 
she could break five out of ten clay pigeons, I would 
take her out after live birds. Kickem required no 
inducement. She really liked the practice from the 
beginning, and the lively snapping and the little curls 
of smoke that would come from the gun muzzle and 
appear to go up Gramp's nose was all great fun. 

In her first morning's shoot at clay birds, she missed 
them all, one after the other, in quick succession, find- 
ing, of course, a quick aim at flying pigeons a far dif- 
ferent thing from a quick aim at a stationary black 
spot. Besides the family and dear old Tom Draw 
(the shooting name for my faithful ranch foreman 
and friend. Bob Green, who has been with us for 
thirty years, and who always shoots with us), two or 
three cowboys stood by and observed this first effort 




Q 

E 
o 
H 



Page One Hundred Seventy-Seven 

WINTER ON A RANCH 

of Kickem's. As they turned away with a chuckle, 
she ran into the house and had a good cry. She was 
but ten years old at this time. 

Kickem, however, kept up her practice. In a morn- 
ing or two, she broke one out of ten; then two; then 
three; until finally one morning she broke five. It 
v/as then I had to take her out on prairie chickens, 
as I had promised. This I did the same afternoon, 
Tom Draw going along to take part in the sport 
as usual. As this afternoon's shoot is quite an event 
in our Annals, I shall give it here. 

The season was late fall. For weeks the weather 
had been warm and dry. Tom Draw and myself had 
once camped near a water hole by a windmill in the 
prairie, four or five miles from the ranch house to 
which we had observed the chickens were wont to 
fly in the evening for water. They usually began to 
come in about an hour by sun. We had never shot 
the place, preferring single birds on the high prairie 
over points from the dogs, comparatively easy shoot- 
ing, but slow and to be had only when the birds were 
scattered, and lying in the grass in the hot part of the 
day, and found sometimes only after hours of riding. 
So, as we wanted immediate action, and the day was 
already well spent, we decided to try the little water 
lake, in the grass along side the windmill. We planned 
to start in time to get to our hiding places in the 
high grass around the lake before the evening flight 
began. 



Page One Hundred Seventy-Eight 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

We saddled up and were ready to start about 
four o'clock; Tom Draw and I each meaning to carry 
a gun and fifty loaded shells. As this was her first 
horseback effort with a gun, it was my plan for 
Kickem not to carry one herself, but to take a stand 
with me and shoot my gun. To this Kickem stren- 
uously objected; she must have her own horse, her 
own shooting jacket, her own shells, her own dog, and 
her own gun. As nothing else would do, thus equipped 
we started. When we reached the shooting place, we 
dismounted, threw the bridle reins over the horses 
heads, and formed a triangle around the lake, each 
about one hundred yards from it. Kickem was all 
excitement, as could be seen, but with all, cool and 
careful. As it had been well impressed upon her 
never to load her gun until she was in position, and 
nbout ready to shoot, and never to let the muzzle 
for an instant (whether the gun was loaded or empty) 
bear upon, or be swung across, a living thing she did 
riOt want to kill, I was not uneasy. Besides, she would 
be in plain view and within easy call. 

Without more ado, I took my stand in the high 
grass, with my pointer Dan dropped at my feet to 
do the retrieving. I directed Tom Draw where to 
station Kickem and himself, and waited and watched. 
Kickem before starting to take her stand, asked, 
"Gramp ! how shall I shoot at a prairie chicken?" 
"Stand still until the bird is close, then pull up your 
gun quickly, take quick sight, and at first sight shoot 



Page One Hundred Seventy-Nine 

WINTER ON A RANCH 

just as you did at clay pigeons from the trap." "If 
you fail to kill with the first, fire the second barrel 
and fire it quickly." Soon, we all were in position, 
Kickem with Dot dropped at her feet. Dot had 
always from a puppy been her dog, and she knew 
how to handle him almost as well as I did. She had 
seen all my yard training and often took a part in it, 
and had done quite a little dog training on her own 
account. We waited a full hour, I think, without 
sign or sight of a prairie chicken. When we were 
about to give it all up as a failure, I caught sight in 
the skyline over Kickem's head of two or three flying 
chickens coming straight for the lake in a line directly 
over the girl. I called, ware ! ware ! once or twice 
in a low tone sufficiently loud to attract Kickem's at- 
tention, and as the first bird passed swiftly over her, 
with a quick motion up came her gun and bang ! bang ! 
went her two barrels, and Kickem heels over head 
backwards in the high grass. It was a clear miss, of 
course. After she scrambled up, recovered her gun 
and we knew all was right, then came Tom Draw's 
low shaky chuckle. Bob Green weighed a good two 
hundred and fifty pounds, was quite as big, in fact, 
as Frank Forester's Tom Draw, after whom our 
Tom was named, and our Tom could not in the 
nature of things laugh without shaking all over. 

By this time it was sundown, and the birds soon 
began to come in from all quarters, and we all got 
busy. Tom Draw and mj^self lost half our shots 



Page One Hundred Eighty 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

from watching the girl and her dog. Kickem, after 
her first double shot, kept her balance, loaded rapidly 
and fired a quick right and left, at almost every 
passing bird, some of them far out of bounds. Soon 
she began to judge her distance better, and every 
now and then she would drop a dead bird, feathering 
and wounding far more than she killed. Dot, all 
the time on the watch, but perfectly staunch, retriev- 
ing them nicely, sitting up and delivering them to 
her in grand shape. By the time she had killed and 
recovered three or four, and had feathered and crip- 
pled twice as many more, I saw her drop her gun, race 
ever to Tom Draw, followed by her dog. Aher 
getting more shells from him, back she came, and at 
it again she went, she and the dog evidently having 
the time of their lives. Old Tow Draw doing little 
shooting, watching the girl, cackling all the time, and 
evidently having a good time too. Old Gramp, owing 
to the distractions, doing little better. 

Dusk soon put an end to the sport. At the windup 
Kickem had killed seven, Tom Draw eight or ten, 
and Gramp about as many more. When we mounted 
our horses to go home, nothing would do but Kickem 
must carry before her on her horse her own gim, and 
in her shooting jacket, bulging from under her arms, 
every one of her dead birds. In this shape she rode 
her five miles, through a rough and roadless prairie, 
all of us picking our way through a pitchy darkness. 

When we reached home, on emptying our shooting 



Page One Hundred Eighty-One 

WINTER ON A RANCH 

jackets, we found we had thirty-two prairie chickens. 
As we stood around the pile of dead birds our en- 
thusiasm waned. All felt we had killed far too many. 
A brace or two each taken in the open over the 
dogs in true sportsman's fashion would have afforded 
ample sport, and given us for the table quite all our 
needs required. What would we not have given just 
then to have been able to put four-fifths of the dead 
birds back, winged flying beauties again alive upon 
the uplands and the prairies? We never again made 
a mistake like this. In fact, Kickem never much 
cared to shoot live birds afterwards and I never urged 
her to it, except upon one occasion five years later in 
Scotland. As we acquitted ourselves far better there, I 
shall no doubt yet write of it in this journal. 

Just about this time an untoward event shortened 
cur stay at the ranch for that winter. Returning from 
a Jittle shoot over the dogs one evening, as we rode 
up to the house, we heard screams and the wildest 
commotion inside. Jumping from our horses and 
rushing in, we found our mainstay, Thomas Jefferson, 
a faithful colored boy, lying dead upon the floor. He 
while laughing and chatting to the cook, had tumbled 
from his chair as he was sitting folding the paper nap- 
kins for supper. When Tom Draw and I had turned 
him upon his back, we found that the poor black boy's 
faithful heart had ceased to beat. 

Thomas had been several times before to that 
ranch with us. In fact, we never came without him. 



Page One Hundred Eighty-Two 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

He was bugler on the coach. At home in the city 
he was yardman and stable assistant. At the ranch 
(where we always rough it in a way), he was dining- 
room boy, waiter, woodcutter, fireman, everything in 
fact. 

Thomas was so good-natured and faithful, and had 
been so long with us, and we were so attached to 
him that all was grief and gloom at his taking off. 
The question was : What were we to do ? To get 
the remains even to the railroad for expressing would 
consume days. To keep them in the house, even for 
the night, was impossible. 

Meantime the cowboys from the ranch had quickly 
galloped over, and taking in the situation after a 
conference, they asked we leave the whole thing to 
them, promising they would have it right and give 
Thomas a decent burial before the next night. Know- 
ing something of cowboy methods, thoroughness and 
despatch, I left all to them without a word. They 
walked at once into the room, and four of them took 
up the body in the gentlest way, each with his hat 
under his arm and they carried it off. 

Some of them quickly erected a platform out of 
sight in the rear. Two more took a wagon and 
started at once to the County seat for the Coroner's 
certificate and a burial permit and a coffin. More 
of them galloped off over the prairie and a mile 
away at a little knoll on the ranch, they dug by the 
light of their lanterns a wide and deep grave with a 



Page One Hundred Eighty-Three 

WINTER ON A RANCH 

fitted recess In the bottom for the coffin, which Bammy 
next day at the burial said was the prettiest grave 
she ever saw. 

First asking permission to take the key to 
Thomas's trunk, they opened it and dressed him in 
his best clothes. They then asked for the open wagon 
hung on thorough-braces that we used for a kind of 
outing wagon, and they used this for the hearse. It 
had a high stationary seat in front and two more in 
the rear that could be taken out. These they re- 
moved. They then put the two big wheel horses 
to the coach and one of the cowboys mounted the 
box to drive. Two more mounted the front seat of 
the hearse, and the procession started. All of the 
cowboys on the ranch following behind the coach 
upon their horses, riding two and two. The chief 
mourners were Bammy, the young lady teacher, and 
Gramp. We took with us the Graphophone and 
three or four suitable records. The hearse and the 
coach were stopped close alongside the grave. 

With the graphophone on the front seat, the front 
glass windows dropped down, we first played the 
"Bugler's Dream." This was followed by "Nearer 
My God To Thee." The intermingling bugle calls 
of the first, the sweet subdued tones of the grapho- 
phone itself and the voices of the quartette sounded 
in the open still air of the quiet afternoon in a weird, 
solemn and most affecting way. 

The cowboys then lowered with their lariats the 



Page One Hundred Eighty-Four 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

coffin to its resting place. They then covered the 
top of the casket, to my surprise, with spear and 
arrow heads, tomahawks, copper discs and other long- 
buried Indian trinkets they had found in Thomas' 
trunk. It seems the cowboys had told the colored 
man that he would likely find under some of the 
little grass knolls, many of which were Indian graves, 
such things; and he unknown to any of us had dug 
them up. Just here old Gramp, although funeral 
orations had hitherto not been exactly in his line, 
realizing the opportunity to air his eloquence too 
good to be neglected, undertook to make a few re- 
marks. He spoke of the unusual occasion, the fitness 
of it all — the beautiful burial afforded the poor Afri- 
can by the chivalrous representatives of our Western 
civilization. How ! no great distance from each other 
now lay in their last sleep around us (two or three 
cowboys had early been buried on the ranch, their 
graves In sight) , three different and distinct races, 
alluding briefly to the best distinguishing character- 
istics of each — Gramp literally spreading himself. 
Their willing hands rapidly filled In the sounding 
clods and the grave was closed and all was over. 

When the cowboys went to the County seat for the 
Coroner's certificate, cofllin and permission to bury 
the body in a little abandoned graveyard three or 
four miles away, they were refused the permission, 
and some persons had told them there never had 
been but one negro in the country and he had (for 



Page One Hundred Eighty-Five 

WINTER ON A RANCH 

some alleged misconduct), been driven out, so they 
must not bury the colored man in the County unless 
they wanted him dug up. 

Gramp's oration at the grave, his eloquence and 
pathos brought sobs and tears. Bammy and the 
young lady teacher quite deluging their handkerchiefs, 
cowboys shedding tears, one of them at the perora- 
tion breaking wholly down, and bursting into a loud 
boohoo (bawl in fact — so as to completely shut old 
Gramp off and compel him to retire just as he was 
getting his second wind and spreading for wilder 
flights). 

To properly finish the job and express their senti- 
ment, a big headboard was set up, upon which was 
inscribed in cowboy hieroglyphics : 

THOMAS JEFFERSON 
Died Nov. 8th, 1903 
To which this epitaph was added: 

Traveler pause and drop a tear 
Black Tom Jeff is buried here. 
Hobgoblins o'er his grave shall strew 
Buckeye blossoms and sprigs of yew. 
Cowboy work so leave Tom be, 
Dig him up and we will see 
You later 
Mill Iron Cowboys. 

This epitaph calls to mind another one put up by 
cowboys upon a different occasion. An ardent and 
lovable Dean had been told by his physician, that if 
he wished to live he must giv^e up his church-work; 



Page One Hundred Eighty-Six 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

go to the mild, dry climate of the Southwest and 
live in the open air. Reluctantly he took his physi- 
cian's advice, went to San Antonio, bought him a 
pony, bridle and saddle, and on horseback journeyed 
southwest into Cow Boy Land, daily growing 
weaker. Riding up to a Range outfit, camped 
upon the prairie one evening weary and weak, he 
asked in his considerate, gentle voice to rest for 
the night. As he dismounted, one of the boys un- 
saddled and staked out his horse ; another improvised 
him a seat on the water keg, and poured him cool 
water with which to bathe his face and hands, got 
him a fresh clean towel, a tin cup of coffee and a 
tin plate, filling it with the good steaming stew from 
the camp kettle about which the boys were gathered 
for their evening meal. 

The Dean's life and character was so lovely, such 
a revelation, the boys would not hear of his leaving 
them. The Dean could do little to help even himself, 
but he was most willing to try. He was so cheerful, 
so gentle, so gentlemanly, so uncomplaining, every 
man loved and could not do enough for him. The 
good, young Dean had, however, come all too late 
to the lifegiving Southwest for it long to give life to 
him. With whispered thanks and a breathed prayer 
for all, one day surrounded by weeping watchers, the 
gentle spirit flitted from the Camp to Cloudland. 

Making a coffin out of the sideboards of the chuck 
wagon and digging a grave in no-man's land, they 



Page One Hundred Eighty-Seven 

WINTER ON A RANCH 

left the good Dean asleep upon the prairie, the camp 
the better for having known him. 

Upon the wide headboard of his grave they placed 
his name and the date of his death. When this was 
done, feeling something was yet lacking a commit- 
tee of three withdrew to consider a fitting epitaph. 
After a time they, with a highly pleased and confi- 
dent air, reported the following: 

"He done his damn'dest, 
Angels could do no more." 

After we had thus paid the last sad rites to the 
faithful black boy, we soon left for the Hot Springs 
to finish the winter. There the charming young 
Wellesley girl, by some pre-arrangement, met an old 
sweetheart and was married. Then Gramp took the 
young lady's place in teaching, trying, until we could 
get her back home to her regular Mentor and Chap- 
eron, to keep her going in arithmetic, reading, writing 
and spelling. 



CHAPTER TEN 

AN INDIAN EPISODE 

THE bane of all my early Western lite was 
the Indian. I was in constant fear of him 
day and night. When I left the band of 
cow boys, with whom I journeyed for weeks 
after I left the mineral springs, of which I wrote 
some pages back, I had a lonely and most uncom- 
fortable week's ride. I camped at night entirely 
alone, staking out my horse in the mesquite brush, 
and making my own camp bed out of the saddle 
blankets several hundred yards from him, for fear 
his neighing might attract some Indian night prowlers 
and I be given in my sleep a rather disagreeable 
surprise. However, all went well, I saw neither 
Indian or white man until I was within fifteen miles 
of the Western frontier town, my destination. My 
repayment of the Indian prank, to which I referred 
some pages back, came about in this way: About the 
time the Indians captured my horses and left me 
stranded with the coach in Young County, Texas, 
they captured the mule train of a Government con- 
tractor, upon which a western banking firm, for which 



Page One Hundred Ninety 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

I was attorney, had a mortgage. After tying the 
teamsters to the wagon wheels, the Indians burned 
the entire train, and the teamsters with it, carrying off 
the mules — some eighty-five head, as I remember. 

Young was an unorganized county adjoining Jack 
County and attached to it for judicial purposes. 

Upon my return the fii*m urged I go at once to 
Washington to see about the affair, not with any 
hopes of getting the mules back, but to have the 
Government protect and pay some outstanding 
vouchers they had issued to the contractor, pay- 
ment upon which had been stopped, owing to the 
contractor's failure to deliver grain according to con- 
tract — his failure being caused by the loss of his 
train. On my arrival in Washington, after a full 
explanation of the affair, accompanied by the neces- 
sary affidavits, the Government paid the checks. 

Just as I was about to leave for home, the Secre- 
tary of the Interior sent for me, and told me that 
he had just been advised by wire that the troops at 
Fort Sill had taken from the Indians some eighty-five 
large American mules, that he supposed were the 
same upon which the banking firm I represented had 
the mortgage; and that no doubt the Indians at Fort 
Sill from whom the mules were taken were guilty of 
the theft and the murders. 

The Kiowas at this time claimed to be peaceable, 
and were wards of the Government, in fact, and drew 
rations from the public crib at the Army Posts. After 
a little wiring back and forth, the Government or- 



Page One Hundred Ninety-One 

AN INDIAN EPISODE 

dered the mules to be returned to my client, and the 
Indian chiefs, connected with the affair, to be arrested 
and sent to Jacksboro, Texas, to the Civil authorities. 
This was accordingly done; and on the morning of 
July 3d, 1 87 1, Satanta, the great Council Chief of 
the Kiowa Indians, and Big Tree (Tablu in the In- 
dian tongue) were brought from the guard house at 
Fort Richardson, Texas, one mile to Jacksboro, 
the county seat, and arraigned for trial for murder. 
The prisoners were brought under a guard of soldiers 
and handcuffed, to the court-house and turned over 
to the Civil authorities to be tried for the capture 
of a train and the killing and burning of the team- 
sters, in May, 1871, on Salt Creek Prairie, in Young 
County, Texas. S. W. T. Lanham, afterward Gov- 
ernor of Texas, was the District Attorney and prose- 
cuted the chiefs. Thomas Ball, an attorney at law, 
then of Weatherford, Texas (recently from Vir- 
ginia), was appointed by the presiding judge, Charles 
Soward, to defend the chiefs. The court room was 
filled to its utmost capacity every day the trial lasted. 
An interpreter named Jones, who had lived with the 
Indians forty years, was sent down by the Commander 
of Fort Sill, Indian Territory (now Oklahoma) to 
interpret, as neither Chief could speak English. Af- 
ter some delay, a jury was obtained. They severed 
in the trial and put Big Tree on first; under a plea 
of "Not guilty." 

Judge Thomas W. Williams (brother of the 
famous "Blue-jeans" Williams of Indiana), also ap- 



Page One Hundred Ninety-Two 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

peared as an attorney in the case. After getting 
through with the evidence for the State — which was 
principally the statements of the Indians on their 
return to Fort Sill boasting of their raid, capture of 
train, etc. Big Tree took the stand in his own de- 
fense and was sworn according to Indian law, that 
is, by putting one hand on the ground and holding 
the other up to the Great Spirit, calling upon Mother 
Earth and the Great Spirit to witness that what he 
was going to say would be the whole truth. Jones 
— the interpreter — stated that when an Indian took 
this oath, he would tell the truth, although he knew 
by so doing he would be killed the next moment. 

Big Tree said that ''Satanka, a noted War Chief, 
was in command of the raid on the wagon train, cap- 
ture, etc. ; and that he (Big Tree) was out on Double 
Mountain Fork with about twenty warriors hunting 
wild horses, and knew nothing of the capture until 
his return to Fort Sill." It was believed he told 
the truth. 

The evidence being through, Lanham opened for 
the State, reciting all the Indian's bad acts, etc., and 
asking for the same punishment they had meted out 
to the train men. The jury brought in a verdict of 
"Guilty of Murder," and affixed the death penalty. 
The court then adjourned to the 5th of July, out of 
respect to the "4th." 

On the 5th, the Chiefs were brought in court 
under guard and handcuffed as before. This was 
deemed imperative, for fear they might seize the 



Page One Hundred Ninety-Three 

AN INDIAN EPISODE 

guards' giins anci go on the war-path; kill and be 
killed. So, for humanity's sake, this was done. Like 
preliminaries as before were gone through. A jury 
obtained with the same foreman. The evidence was 
a little different from that in the other trial, but 
equally satisfactory to the jury. Lanham argued the 
case as before. In both trials. General Thomas Ball 
based his defensive arguments on the flimsy evi- 
dence and uncontradicted statements of each, Big 
Tree's as stated above, and Satanta's statement, that 
— "He remained on Pease River as Medicine man, 
while Satanka led the war party on the fatal mission 
on Salt Creek prairie." A like verdict was returned 
as before. 

The court adjourned to the 6th, when the pris- 
oners were brought into court for further proceed- 
ings. The crowd now increased to nearly suffoca- 
tion. After motions for new trials and in arrest of 
judgments were made, argued and overruled, the 
Court asked the prisoners what they had to say why 
sentence of death should not be pronounced upon 
them. The two Chiefs arose and then was witnessed 
in that Texas court room as grand an exhibition of 
Indian stoicism, repose, indifference, pride and sul- 
len defiance, I think, as the world has ever seen. 
Satanta, in the pride of his glory, erect, firm, full 
six feet, seeming to think he was in a grand powwow; 
and that he could propose such terms as would satisfy, 
and all would be well, holding his hands to half his 
height, spoke thus: 



Page One Hundred Ninety-Four 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

"From the time I was a little papoose — so high — 
I have been the friend of the white man. I never 
understood the white people before as so many. Send 
me back to my people and I will tell them you can 
raise corn on the South bank of Red River, while we 
will hunt buffalo on the North bank. But kill us and 
the Indians will come from the mountains and plains 
— no power can stop them^ — and sweep over Texas 
like the flames of the prairies; and kill all in their 
path. Choose you, Peace or War!" 

All through the trials these Chiefs sat as though 
marble statues, never indicating by eye or mouth an 
emotion. After Satanta sat down, the young War 
Chief, Big Tree, arose, his eyes glistening like stars 
and for a moment fixed upon the ceiling. The time 
for the execution of Satanta had been fixed at thirty 
days. Before the War Chief spoke all the sullen 
gloom during the trial passed from his face; while 
a smile of a babe's innocence played over it, mingled 
with defiance. After a moment, drawing himself to 
his full height, he said: "I do not want to stay in 
prison thirty days. I am young, and got a stout 
heart (here bringing his hand against his heart), and 
am not afraid to die. Take me out and kill me 
now!" Then he, turning to the Interpreter Jones, 
said: "When you go back home tell my people how 
I died." When he finished, all smiles passed as 
though the marble like face had never worn one. 

In Satanta's long plait of hair hanging behind 




Satanta, Kiowa Chief 



Page One Hundred Ninety-Five 

AN INDIAN EPISODE 

was a woman's flaxen braid about the size of the 
forefinger. Jones said that in a raid on the plains 
they captured a train, killed all except a beautiful 
girl about eighteen. Satanta — then a subchief of ht- 
tle authority — took this girl for his squaw. Return- 
ing to camp to celebrate their prowess in a War 
dance, the big War Chief told Satanta he was going 
to take his white squaw. She (Lulu by name) clung 
to Satanta and begged him to protect her. When he 
found he could not do so, he pulled out his scalping 
knife and buried it in her heart, cut the long lock 
from her hair, wove it into his own, and wore it 
there until he killed himself by jumping from 
an upper story of the prison at Huntsville, Texas. 

Sentence having been commuted to imprisonment 
for life; the succeeding winter, we got up a big meet- 
ing of the Indians at Fort Sill, and sent Satanta and 
Big Tree along with Commissioners from Texas; 
they made a treaty with the Indians; and paroled the 
two Chiefs on good behavior, conditioned they never 
cross Red River into Texas. Satanta violated his 
parole; was re-arrested and returned to the Texas 
prison; where he said: "I no want to live!" and 
died as stated. Big Tree respected his parole ; made 
much out of cattle and lived for years on his ranch, 
some twenty-five miles west of Lawton, Oklahoma, 
no great distance from my own ranch on the Okla- 
homa and Texas line. 

These Chiefs took a great liking to their attorney, 
Ball, and told him when they went back he must 



Page One Hundred Ninety-Six 
THE JOURNAL OP A GRANDFATHER 

go with them ; and they would give him two hundred 
ponies and two young squaws to herd them. Gen- 
eral Ball did not accept the offer. 

This Indian love tale and Satanta's bloody deed 
call to mind a similar one committed by Virginius 
before the hated Appius Claudius, in the Roman 
Forum more than two thousand years ago. Some of 
Macauley's poet lines in the "Lays of Ancient 
Rome," commemorating this, with only name and 
place changed, fits well the Indian tragedy: 

"This is no Grecian fable, of fountains running wine, 

Of maids with snakey tresses, or warriors turned to swine. 

Here in the western forest, under tlie noonday sun, 

In sight of all the people, the ))loody deed was done. 

Still let the maiden's beauty swell the lover's breast with pride, 

.Still let the bridegroom's arms infold an unpolluted bride. 

Spare him the inexpiable wrong, the unutterable shame, 

That turns the coward's heart to steel, the sluggard's blood to flame, 

Lest, when our latest hope is fled, ye taste of our despair, 

And learn by proof in some wild hour how )nuch the wretched dare. 

"Straightway he led his love a little space aside 

To where the reekuig shambles stood, piled up with horn and hide, 

And then his eyes grew dim, and his throat began to swell, 

And in a hoarse, changed voice, he spake, 'Farewell sweetheart! 

Farewell ! 
0, how I loved my darling! Though stern I sometimes be. 
To thee thou know'st I was not so. AVho could be so to thee? 
Then clasp me round the neck once more, and give me one more 

kiss ! 

And now, mine own dear little girl, there is no way but this.' 
With that he lifted high the steel and smote her in the side. 
And in her blood she sank to earth, and with one sob she died. 
Then for a little mf)ment, all the people held their breath, 
iind through the forest aisles was stillness as of death." 



Page One Hundred Ninety-Seven 

AN INDIAN EPISODE 

I like the Indian tale better than the story of Vir- 
ginius. It rings truer and is better vouched for. 

A student of histoiy can but suspect that the story 
of VIrginius is but a baseless legend; a minstrel's 
song to "point a moral or adorn a tale." The Ro- 
man's tragic deed, it will be remembered, was claimed 
to have been committed after the days of Kings, in 
the last reign of the Decemvir, of which government 
of ten, the infamous Appius Claudius was chief. This 
\ragedy of Virginius it is claimed caused the down- 
fall of Claudius and the rule of ten, and restored the 
Tribunes. 

The legend is of doubtful authenticity. Any am- 
bitious demagogue, poet or stroUing harper, who 
would harangue, recite, or sing of the justly hated 
Appius Claudius, to Increase his own popularity with 
the common people, would not hesitate to Invent a 
story so well adapted to his purpose. I never quite 
liked this Roman legend; to me It never rang true. 
How VIrginius, the fond father, could plunge his 
dagger Into a devoted daughter's heart, "the sweet- 
est maid In Rome," and be willing to live after- 
wards, I never could quite see. If this old Roman 
father. Instead of wailing that hereafter: 

"None will grieve when I go forth, or smile when I return 
Or watch beside the old man's bed, or weep upon his urn." 

(as the poet puts it) had Instead, before or after 
his cruel act, employed his murderous activities by 
rushing with his bloody knife upon Appius Claudius 



Page One Hundred Ninety-Eight 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

and the lictors, seeking death and forgetfuhiess, I 
would have Hked him and the legend better. In- 
stead of this, according to the "Ancient Lay" : 

"With white lips and bloodsliot eyes, Virginius tottered nigh, 
And stood before tlie judgment seat, and held the knife on high." 

'0 dwellex's in the nether gloom! avengers of the slain! 
By this dear blood I cry to you ! do right between us twain ; 
And even as Appius Claudius hath dealt by me and mine. 
Deal you by Appius Claudius and all the Claudian line!' 

"So spake the slayer of his child, and turned and went his way; 

But first he cast one haggard glance to where the body lay, 

And writhed and groaned a fearful groan, and then Avith steadfast 

feet 
Strode right across the market place into the sacred street." 

The Indian did better. After his bloody deed, 
he stooped, cut a lock of golden hair, twined it with 
his own and died, saying, before he threw himself 
from an upper window of the penitentiary at Hunts- 
ville — "I no want to live!" 

It has been said: "The heroic death is a gift of 
the Gods to their favorites," Virginius evidently 
was not a favorite. At any rate, he lost his op- 
portunity, and for this I never liked him or the 
legend, and never believed in either. When you 
place the Indian true tale along side the Roman story, 
does not the poor Indian War Chief fairly outshine 
the legendary father of Plebian Rome? 

The American Indian Is poetic In temperament. In 
his oratory and in his speech he is brief and pointed, 



Page One Hundred Ninety-Nine 

AN INDIAN EPISODE 

and in both he always uses metaphor. His metaphors, 
too, are all drawn from things about him: the sky, 
the rivers, the mountains, the prairies, the sun, the 
moon, the flames, the growing corn, showing him 
to be a true child of nature. 




The Dignity of Her Senior Year 



CHAPTER ELEVEN 

A FOREST RIDE 

MY granddaughter is getting well along In 
her teens now. She has already attained 
to the dignity of her Senior Year at 
"Mary's" and is counting the days until 
her graduation. 

She evidently does not think her blue eyes "pre- 
ordained to be saddled and bridled with eyeglasses 
and erudition." She would much prefer to have the 
saddle and bridle on her favorite horse, and with 
her knowledge of cooking, acquired mostly In her 
study of Domestic Science at "Mary's" and her music, 
French and literature, to take her chances in the 
open without four more years of indoor College 
work. I am disposed to encourage her in this. 

Kickem plays basket-ball, tennis, bowls, rides, 
drives, rows, swims, hunts and shoots. She affects golf, 
too, winning last year the Ladies' Golf Champion- 
ship Cup at the Missouri Amateur Athletic Asso- 
ciation, and first prize at golf In the Ladles' Class 
at White Sulphur Springs, Virginia, last summer. 



Page Two Hundred Two 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

These, with her "free swing and follow through," 
and her rich coloring, which I would call lemon and 
white in a pointer, and her voice to the accompani- 
ment of the ukulele, — (a form of stringed guitar-hke 
instrument she picked up in Honolulu, and which 
she wails to in great fashion), has already enabled 
her to bring staggering to her feet certain young men 
and boys all under age — 

"First Captives lean and scraggy 
Of her Cupid's bow and spear." 

As my granddaughter is affecting literary airs now, 
I imagine she will quit boys, and have real men in 
her train soon. This boy business, I suppose, is but 
a ''passing craze in her evolution." 

Should any one ask is my granddaughter a Kicker? 
I would say: Yes, she is something of a kicker, and 
with her kicks and her red hair there goes a bit of 
temper. Both I hope are but other passing phases. 

Riding with her along the quiet bridle-paths of 
the Forest Park we live near, she rather surprised me 
the other day by interrupting my quiet reverie, as 
we walked our horses after a smart gallop, with the 
sudden observ^ation, "Gramp ! Your only grand- 
child should have been a boy !" 

"Why, Kickem." 

"Because! Gramp! you don't know how to edu- 
cate a girl. You have educated me like I was a 
boy. I can't do things at 'Mary's' as well as the 




Her Free Swing and Follow Through 



Page Two Hundred Three 

A FOREST RIDE 

Other girls. We graduate in June. I won't be an 
'Honor girl.' 1 might have a chance in music and 
literature, but music don't count, and my literary ef- 
forts are only an occasional composition about com- 
mon things, and places I know about," and a short 
story now and then that we have to make up and 
write, I made up one the other day from the flower 
joke played on cousin Martha years ago when she 
visited us. Don't you remember it, Gramp?" 

"Yes, Kickem, but first about the compositions; 
what were they?" 

"One was about the trip to Old Mexico to look 
at a ranch; where we took a boat on our train, get- 
ting off twenty miles from the Rio Grande River, and 
waggoning down to the river's bank, where we met 
the queer-looking band of Mexican smugglers on 
the American side, and you loaned them our boat 
to cross their smuggled goods to the Mexican side. 
Don't you remember, Gramp?" 

"Never mind! Take care daughter! please do not 
make me an 'accessory after the fact.' " 

"You did Gramp, you know you did." 

"Well! where is that composition?" 

"I don't think I kept it." 

"Well ! what about your other literary produc- 
tions?" 

"Oh ! one was about Old Tumpwitchitt, the Indian 
Chief you know, whose profile in the high rock guards 
Pinecliff (our home In the Rockies), and sees that 



, Page Two Hundred Six 

THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

"That Is not at all bad, Kickem. What else have 
you?" 

"My last composition." 

"What was that about?" 

"That, too, is of our country home in the moun- 
tains. I thought I never could do anything with 
that. This was a composition we had to write in 
the class in forty-five minutes. Every girl could 
choose her own subject, but they all had to write. 
I had been working hard for a month writing criti- 
cisms on Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, Maria 
Edgeworth's Helen, and Scott's "Peveril of the 
Peak," books the class had read. My brain was so 
mixed and puzzled over it all, I sat the forty-five 
minutes through my mind a perfect blank. When 
our time was up I went to my teacher and explained 
as well as I could my situation, telling her I had 
not been able to write a line. She told me that she 
wished every member of the class to write this compo- 
sition and that she could not excuse me, and for me 
to go home and rest and write it that night, and 
bring it to her in the morning. She had told the 
class that she wished all to write this composition 
after the style of Charles Lamb's essay on Old 
China." 

"This teacher had in a suggestion she made to the 
class about writing of our childhood days as an old 
woman given me a clue — so that night by the wood 
iire in your den, I wrote my composition and gave 



Page Two Hundred Seven 

A FOREST RIDE 

it In the next morning, taking for my subject "A 
Wood Fire," and writing as an old woman." 
"Was that short, too, and can you repeat it?" 
"I think so, at least I will try to give it about as 
I wrote it." 

"A WOOD FIRE." 

"As I sit in front of the open fire, and make pic- 
tures in the glowing embers, my mind goes back to 
our mountain home. 

"There, as a child, I used to sit In the great room, 
before a roaring fire, and listen to my grandfather 
and his friends discuss the day's hunt. They would 
tell of the long journey over the mountains with the 
dogs, and of how, when the dogs struck a trail, 
they would give tongue and follow, the men after 
them. Then of coming up with, or perhaps treeing 
the bear; when the men would shoot; the bear would 
fall; and the dogs be whipped off. My eyes would 
fairly pop out, so eager was I to hear. And then, 
when I had told them all good-night and was car- 
ried off to bed, the great shadows on the walls would 
become bears, and I, a mighty hunter. 

"So the night passed, and in the morning I would 
open my eyes and watch the sun rise over the moun- 
tains, and see its long shafts of light fall upon the 
red rocks and great forest pines. Now and then I 
would hear the soft tinkle of the cow-bells, or the 
joyous notes of a meadow lark, and above all the 
roaring of the water, as it rushed over the great 



Page Two Hundred Eight 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

boulders which blocked its way. Then I would dress 
and go down to the stables to see all the horses and 
cows, and when the breakfast bell rang, a very 
hungry child would answer the summons. 

"After breakfast I often rode or went to the sta- 
tion for the mail; but my favorite amusement was 
to climb up to a high rock called "Inspiration Point;" 
by my elders, but I called it my castle. I used to 
pretend I was the queen of all the mountains and 
valleys. I had my castle way up high so that I might 
see my whole kingdom. The great rocks were my 
fortresses and the valleys and hillsides my gardens. 
Off in the distance were streams and a large lake, 
which were rivers and oceans. The tall and stately 
pines were my sage counsellors and the graceful as- 
pens my courtiers. This was my dearest dream, my 
kingdom. 

"But alas! the glowing embers have fallen apart 
and my kingdom and my youth remain to me only 
as a precious memory." 

"I think this is capital, Kickem! Our mountain 
home seems to have made quite an impression on 
your imagination. I think we will spend this sum- 
mer there." 

"What about the Flower Story? Can you give me 
that?" 

"N'o, Grandpa, not on this ride. It is too long." 

"Will you give these all to me when we get home?" 

"What for, Grandpa?" 



Page Two Hundred Nine 

A FOREST RIDE 

"To put In my journal." 
"Are you keeping a journal, Grandpa?" 
"Yes." 

"What for?" 
"For you, dear." 

No more was said duirng the ride. In silence we 
walked the horses home. That evening when she 
had as usual finished her lessons by my study fire and 
was about to give me her customary good night 
and go upstairs, she said as she stood by my chair — 
"Grandpa! I don't think you want my composi- 
tions and the story you asked for in your Journal. 
I have not corrected them. They are just as they 
came from my teacher. I think I am really as good 
in English Literature as most of the girls in my 
class, and that I have read quite as many of the 
best standard novels — thanks to you — but the compo- 
sitions and story are not much. I can't write of 
things I don't know about." 
"Nobody can, daughter." 

I unlocked my desk and opened before her the 
title-page. As her eyes passed over the three dedica- 
tory lines to herself, they filled with tears. She kissed 
me, and passed up stairs, sending me down the asked 
for papers. As she may like in the coming years, 
long after they are forgotten, to again see them 
I copied from her manuscript the exact words of 
her short essays substituting them for her verbal 
recitations on the ride. 



CHAPTER TWELVE 

RIDING AND SHOOTING IN SCOTLAND 

WE got some riding and shooting in Scot- 
land. We had gone over to spend three 
weeks at a country place in a hunting and 
shooting country. We were asked to 
come prepared to both ride and shoot. We took 
Kickem's side-saddle and our pair of light English 
shotguns. We arrived three or four days before 
Christmas. Kickem riding hard in the hunting field 
every day, I, each day (Sunday excepted), doing 
more or less pheasant shooting at country places in 
the neighborhood to which we were always, by way 
of courtesy to the friends we were visiting, invited. 
On New Year's day, there was at the country place 
where we visited, both a meet and a pheasant shoot, 
something quite unusual (upon the same place, and 
for the same day), even In that rich hunting and 
shooting country. 

Kickem was urged to shoot, and, although much 
preferring to ride to hounds, she, at my urgent solici- 
tation, finally one day agreed to do so. The next 



Page Two Hundred Twelve 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

morning when they were hning us up for the shoot, 
fancying she might be a bit nervous in such distin- 
guished company, there being a duke, a duchess, a 
dowager, and many other distinguished people pres- 
ent, I requested the girl to be placed next to me. 

As we faced the first covert, and I looked down 
the long line of shooters — placed about seventy-five 
yards apart — I confess I felt a little nervous, not so 
much on my own account, as for my Chum. I had 
been doing a little of this kind of shooting in less 
crowded and less conspicuous company, for a week 
or more. This was, however, my Chum's first ap- 
pearance. As the rise was sure to be a long one — 
about two hundred yards — and, as we were lined up 
over one hundred yards from the cover, and, as there 
was quite a wind blowing from it, I knew the birds 
would come fast and high. Beside, Kickem was 
the only lady shooter in the line, and there was quite 
a little gallei-y (friends who had walked over from 
the house), standing just behind her, to see how the 
young American girl would handle and acquit her- 
self in such a company. I felt it was a trying posi- 
tion, and I walked over and asked if I should not 
request the little group to stand farther away, and 
not to speak. She replied, "No, I don't mind!" 

By the time I returned to my stand, the beaters 
had started into the cover, shouting and beating 
with sticks upon the tree trunks and all was waiting 
and suspense. Soon, a single bird flushed, and came 



Page Two Hundred Thirteen 

RIDING AND SHOOTING IN SCOTLAND 

driving for the line, and, although it came high and 
fast, the gentleman whose stand it was pointing for 
neatly dropped it. Other single birds began to come 
in a scattering kind of way, about half of which 
were missed. Then came right for old Gramp a swift 
flyer that although a bit nervous from the responsi- 
bilities of the occasion, he had the good fortune to 
stop. The birds were scarce and scattering in this 
jfirst cover, there being few there in fact, so every 
bird and shot was seen by all the line and by the 
spectators. This rather added to the interest and 
excitement. 

Soon, there came straight for the girl a big Cock 
Pheasant flying high and fast with a strong wind 
behind him. As Kickem's bird came on with its rich 
plumage and streaming tail all watched and waited. 
The girl stood with her gun down — I thinking she 
never would pull it up — until the cock was well-nigh 
over her, then with a quick motion up it came, and 
as it touched her shoulder her first barrel quickly 
^cracked and old Cramp's heart almost ceased to beat. 
It was a clear miss and old Gramp knew it, and 
knew he was too far away to help. Just then the 
girl, evidently having lost the bird, made a quick 
whirl facing to the rear, and as she again caught sight 
of it, with a quick snap — shot from her left — she 
dropped the brilliant Cock Pheasant stone dead. It 
was all quickly and most cleverly done. As the shoot- 
ers gathered at the center (as they always do while 



Page Two Hundred Fourteen 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

waiting for the beaters to go to another cover) , you 
can be assured the girl came in for quite her share 
of the congratulations. 

Soon the beaters were again in position at the 
back of another piece of wood. As the shooting line 
was faced about to front the new position, a small 
clump of bushes hid the girl from me. Soon, I 
heard two shots in quick succession from Kickem's 
gun. Thinking it had gone off accidently, I called 
to her to know what the matter was? She replied, 
"Nothing, Gramp !" "I killed a bird, that is all." 
It was the first bird that came from out the last 
cover. It was a hen pheasant that flew low, so I 
did not see it. I asked back, "Where is the bird?" 
She replied, "Just in the little clump of bushes in 
front of me. It will come up all right." This (clump 
of timber) also had but a few birds in it, conse- 
quently, there was but little shooting from this cover. 
When the beaters had beaten out the cover and we 
all had assembled again in the center, it was found 
that Kickem was the only one that up to that time 
had killed a brace. She was, of course, again con- 
gratulated. 

The clouds had been heavy and lowering all the 
morning, and just then a light shower of rain began 
to fall. Kickem at once ordered up her cart. As she 
began to put on her wrap, and the assistant game- 
keeper, who had stood behind her, began to put away 
her gun, there was a polite but general protest. It 



Page Two Hundred Fifteen 

RIDING AND SHOOTING IN SCOTLAND 

was urged the rain was but a passing shower that 
Avould be over before the beaters could reach the 
next cover. The friendly protest, however, was of 
no avail, the girl replying in the kindest and sweet- 
est way, as I thought: "No! I thank you very much. 
I will shoot no more live birds. I have a brace to 
take home, and I want no more. Positively, I cannot 
shoot again," looking all of the time in a most pitiful 
way at the stack of poor dead pheasants piled up 
on the ground before us. 

Two or three gentlemen from Edinburgh then, to 
whom we had been introduced at the house before 
going out to shoot, stepped forward and politely 
begged permission to take her birds that night to the 
city with them and have them mounted and packed 
ready for her to take home. 

As she mounted the dog-cart to drive away, Gramp 
climbed upon the box beside her, feeling that for the 
rest of the day, he would prefer to see the fox-hunt- 
ing, the riding, the dogs, and the habited fair, than 
to shoot. 

The meeting was at eleven, and we left the shoot- 
ing party just in time to see it. As the girl turned 
her horse to drive off, I observed she took the road 
out that would carry us to the entrance gate, where 
the hunting company was to assemble. Before going 
far, at a turn on the wooded highroad, we saw ahead 
cf us at least a hundred horsemen and horsewomen, 
with a lot of vehicles of all kinds lined up on each 



Page Two Hundred Sixteen 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

side of the road. The riders were everywhere, stand- 
ing, moving about, filling the center of the road, and 
clustering upon the velvet grass in the park, where 
the first run was to be. The hounds — a big, hand- 
some pack, nicely and evenly marked — were being 
held farther away by the huntsman and the whips. 
The master, whom we well knew, upon his big 
hunter, was moving and bowing everywhere. 

As the riders in the road moved right and left 
to let us through, the groom behind in our cart called 
our attention to a Victoria lined up on the road to 
our left a little way ahead, telling us the occupants 
"were the Dowager and the Duchess of R," the lat- 
ter by all odds, as I already knew, the richest Amer- 
ican girl that ever married abroad; and none there, 
I am told, have better deported themselves. She 
was of the King's set then — that was in Edward's 
time. She is now, I see from the papers, a gk-eat 
favorite with Queen Mary, and at present perhaps 
the most honored American woman about the Court. 

Kickem is, I think, a right good whip. She early 
learned to drive, and can handle quite well a Park 
Four upon occasion, without ever having had to pay 
Howlett of Paris, or Batony of New York, tftn dol- 
lars a lesson. As she in her quiet, unpretentious way, 
that morning drove through the hunting crowd, hand- 
ling her whip and reins, and sitting the box with 
that easy grace that so bespeaks the horsewoman, 
all eyes were upon her, — those of the charming 




She Handles Well a Four Upon Occasion 



Page Two Hundred Seventeen 

RIDING AND SHOOTING IN SCOTLAND 

Duchess and Dowager not excepted, neither giving 
so much as a glance at Gramp, who gotten up in 
his nattiest sporting togs, felt quite put out about 
it; however, as he received an invitation to shoot 
pheasants on the Duke's place, he became reconciled. 
We drove straight home. The girl on no account 
being willing to wait and see the start. On reaching 
the house, we found there was not a decent hunter 
left in the stables. This being the first meet and 
run of the new year, all had been taken. There was 
quite a company at dinner that evening;, By this 
time about all of them had seen the American girl 
ride, drive and shoot. To say that old Gramp was 
just then a bit proud of her is putting it mildly. 

Kickem, excepting a flying teal once in a while at 
our duck shooting place on Caddo Lake, and a quail 
now and then at Cottonwood over a point to please 
me as we ride, and together from horseback work 
the dogs, has never shot live birds since. She, how- 
ever, keeps up her trap shooting, and is fond of it. 
Our riding in Scotland was in no way eventful. 
Gramp satisfying himself, by viewing the hunt from 
a high trap on the road, and an occasional ride on 
horseback with his charming hostess in the large 
Woodland park of a thousand acres, in the center 
of which stood the country house where we visited. 
This park with its grand old trees, undulating land- 
scapes, rides and drives, reminded me much of For- 
est Park in Saint Louis. 



Page Two Hundred Eighteen 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

A rider who follows the hounds in Scotland, and 
blinks none of the jumps, gets falls and plenty of 
them. Our host, now the Master of the Northumber- 
land pack there, got fourteen the season preceding 
our visit, as he told me himself. Old bones are too 
slow to knit for Gramp to want any of this. The 
girl went straight at every thing and went over, stone 
walls excepted. The only jump of Kickem's that 
Gramp cares to talk about, however, was not taken in 
Scotland, but in a run with the Denver pack, when on 
her favorite horse. General — she right after the 
Master — the bravest man and rider I ever knew, 
cleared the high line ditch in a jump of thirty-two 
and a half feet. Of this jump I must tell in a suc- 
ceeding chapter. 

The Ancient Persians, we are told, educated their 
youth to ride and shoot and tell the truth — no bad 
way. Gentlemen in our own olden time raised their 
boys in much the same way. So, after all, I do not 
know that the system is altogether bad. 



CHAPTER THIRTEEN 

KICKEM'S RUN WITH THE 
DENVER HOUNDS 

PRIOR to Kickem's taking It, no woman of 
that country — and there were good riders 
there — ever attempted to jump the high 
lin*?. ditch and very few men have ever 
taken it. The girl took this flying, in a run with 
the Denver hounds. As this was a somewhat famous 
hunt in the Annals of the Denver Hunt Club, and 
was also on New Year's day, with sixty or seventy 
good riders in the field, a dozen fair ladies amongst 
them, I shall tell of it here. 

I was not a member of the Hunt Club that gave 
this run. I had ridden with them once or twice, 
but Kickem never. She was a school girl but just 
coming into her teens then. We kept at the time a 
small pack of hounds at a ranch in the foothills forty 
miles away where we would sometimes go on Sat- 
urday for a bit of a run after a wet skin ; the coun- 
try being too rough to run a live wolf in, he at the 
first burst, always making straight for the mountains 



Page Two Hundred Twenty 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

never a half mile away. At a week's end, we would 
occasionally have two or three of the hunt club riders 
down there. 

In my horse-show days, besides my coach and other 
heavy harness classes, I had a few good ones I kept 
for the jumping class. Except in the Horse Show 
season, these jumpers all ran loose on the mountain 
ranch. In the little valleys there, shade, water and 
grass were abundant. So the horses had a good time, 
no one being allowed so much as to saddle them 
when we were away. Finally, tiring of so many 
useless jumpers, three or four were sent to Denver 
and sold at auction. Two of them. High J and 
Chilcoot, capable of clearing a six and a half, or 
even seven foot hurdle, at the Horse Show. Out of 
the lot, we kept two big upstanding chestnuts, Gen- 
eral and Masterpiece. General was the girl's horse, 
and an old dear, never good on the high jump for 
over four and a half feet. At that height and all 
below it, he won more first moneys than all the others 
combined; and for a run across country, for power 
and the broad jump, he had no superior. 

This New Year's run was to be a drag hunt, and 
they laid out a good one of fully eight miles. Among 
the other jumps was the high line ditch, a canal 
really, built by a big English Company for irriga- 
tion purposes — crossed ^s a rule only on bridges. It 
was cut wide and deep, with perpendicular walls, in 
many places the top so smooth as to be invisible upon 
the grassy prairie fifty yards away. The ditch was 



Page Two Hundred Twenty-One 

KICKEM'S RUN WITH THE DENVER HOUNDS 

equally perilous whether dry or filled with water. 
The day of the run it was perfectly dry, the banks 
where the hunt crossed being as level as the borders 
of a garden walk. 

As it was to be a holiday and the hunt was to 
start and finish at the Country Club — the M. F. H. 
made me promise to bring the girl and for both of 
us to ride. Although not liking it overmuch for 
the youngster, I made the promise, and the next 
morning at ten, putting our saddles and bridles in 
the trap (to save us the long five-mile ride on horse- 
back to the Club), I with a lady friend, my grand- 
daughter's companion and teacher — herself a good 
rider, started for the Club; Kickem all equipped, rid- 
ing the General alongside. We were half an hour 
late. As we topped the hill bringing the Club in 
plain view, we heard the twang of the horn and saw 
that the hunt was moving out; the dogs, the hunts- 
man and the whips, some distance in advance of the 
Master and the field. Seeing we had no time to sad- 
dle or go by the Club, I whipped up, taking a short 
cut on a cross-road, hoping to intercept the hunting 
party before the dogs took the trail and all were 
away, calling to Kickem to "gallop on and join the 
field and stay with them in a quiet way, no rushing, 
no risks," Kickem promised, and away she went on 
her big chestnut, he with his strong, free stride look- 
ing the great hunter that he was and the slender 
girl, with her black habit, light hands and easy seat, 



Page Two Hundred Twenty-Two 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

looking every inch the rider. How old Gramp fumed 
then that he was to be out of it. 

There was no help for it now, however, so, whip- 
ping up, I intercepted the party just before they 
were off. I saw the Master was on Chilcoot, and a 
fine, young chap — a namesake of my own, a crack 
and fearless rider, was there on High J. There was 
besides, as I observed, a strong field of both sexes, 
with what looked like racing mounts. So I well knew 
they were going to run for it. 

By this time, the huntsman's horn was going, so, 
as I called to the Master, and my namesake to have 
an eye to the girl, the eager dogs took up the scent, 
and with a burst, away they went, every hound giving 
tongue and straining to be first. 

It was a glorious sight and a glorious day. There 
had been a crispy frost that morning. It had warmed 
up a bit, the scent was fine, and the air was that 
clear you could see for miles in the far distance, 
hear the twang, twang, of the horn and the noisy 
clamor of the dogs, as they went fast away towards 
the mountains. The Master held the field well back 
in an easy gallop until the dogs were well-nigh a 
mile ahead, then he let them go. Before they could 
run onto the dogs, they were winding in the little 
foothills, in and out of sight, over a sandy and rough 
country, where the riders had to slow up and pick 
their way. Here there was a check and for a time 



Page Two Hundred Twenty-Three 

KICKBM'S RUN WITH THE DENVER HOUNDS 

the pack and field were out of sight, and the party 
away from roads and out of reach of wheels. 

No one had been Informed as to the route the 
chase would take. I had a pointer from the Master 
as to where they would cross the road about three 
miles out, so, in my trap, I kept this road followed 
by other vehicles, and some onlooking riders. 

As we drove slowly on (the chase in view all the 
way until it struck the little foothills), the clear 
air seemed to magnify the horses, the riders and 
the hounds. Soon the pack turned at a right angk 
from the mountains, and came across the open plain 
bearing to cross the road ahead of us. The rough 
country and the check had again put the hounds well 
ahead, and they crossed our road several hundred 
yards in advance of the Master and the field. 

As the hounds crossed not over one hundred yards 
in front of us, I marked the exact spot and drove 
quickly up and stopped as near it as I dared. On 
came the Master, closely followed by two or three 
good front ones, and then the field, all going well- 
nigh at racing speed, the hounds making music well 
in advance of them. It was a pretty sight. My 
eyes, of course, were all for the girl. As I caught 
sight of the old General's high head right in the 
center of a crowding field, wringing wet to the eyes, 
and swaying from side to side in a mute appeal for 
his bit and head, I saw at a glance he was in trouble 
and the girl in no safe place, so, as soon as my voice 



Page Two Hundred Twenty-Four 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

had a chance to reach her, and while the bunch was 
yet fifty yards from the road, I jumped on my seat, 
held high my whip and at the top of my voice, 
yelled: "Give the General his head and let him go!" 
Up to that time, the girl in obedience to my injunc- 
tion had been holding hard, and giving herself and 
the old horse a bad time of it. 

The girl saw and heard me, so, no doubt, did the 
old horse. The big chestnut, as soon as his head 
was freed, gave it a glad shake, set it high, and 
in a dozen strides had the girl alone in the safe open, 
going fast and easy to the front after Chilcoot and 
the Master. Here old Gramp w^ent wild; his sport- 
ing blood was up; not knowing what was before 
them, he would just then have freely backed the girl 
and her old horse against the field. 

The onlookers on wheels is sadly handicapped in 
the hunting field. What would I not then have given 
to have been on Masterpiece to see it out without 
losing sight of a single stride. As it was, I could 
only see the rest of the run from a distance. Whip- 
ping like mad over any road offering a close parallel, 
I made the trap wheels hum, and I lashed the team 
into a foam. The chase was becoming by this time, 
as I could see, more a race, depending upon riding, 
blood, bottom and endurance than upon anything 
else. Hounds began to be passed and to fall out by 
ones and twos. The field was fast thinning, stringing 
out into a cracker. I whipped into another road, 




- .,p 



Page Two Hundred Twenty-Five 

KICKEM'S RUN WITH THE DENVER HOUNDS 

hoping for a closer parallel. The run was veering, 
turning more and more towards the Club House, 
meaning to cross as I feared the big high line ditch. 
Heavens ! what will become of the girl ! Can I stop 
her? I turned my team, dashed along the road that 
crossed the bridge over the high line ditch, but I 
was all too late, the girl was over and making for the 
Club House. 

The Master's first words to me were: "Colonel! 
I saw the girl too late to stop her!" "You should 
have seen it!" "After we saw you where we crossed 
the road, we went on at a reasonably stiff pace over 
a good, level country, the good ones coming a bit 
strung out not far behind me, your granddaughter 
well up amongst them. When I reached the high 
line ditch, Chilcoot took it in good style, as he has 
done two or three times before with me. As Chil- 
coot settled, I looked back, there was a man and 
horse down in the ditch, and to my horror. General 
and the girl flying over them. The girl when she 
saw what had happened pulled the grand old horse 
the least bit to one side as he gathered and took off, 
so he leaped diagonally clear and clean right over 
them, the girl settling and landing like a bird and 
coming right on without a bobble. The jump was 
thirty-two and a half feet by my measurement, meas- 
uring the horse's hind foot tracks from his taking 
off on one bank to his landing on the other, the 
ditch itself being sixteen feet from bank to bank." 



Page Two Hundred Twenty-Six 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

Right after this we walked to the Club and cele- 
brated. To my Why? when I met and hugged my 
granddaughter, she simply said: "I saw Chilcoot take 
it Gramp ! and I knew General could jump anything 
Chilcoot could." We then took the street car home. 
As old Gramp feeling gay and boyish jumped off the 
rear platform that New Year's evening upon the 
melting snow of the slick asphalt street, up went 
his heels and down came his two hundred gross, 
square upon his right shoulder. This put him into 
the hands of an Osteopath for a good four months. 
Meantime, the girl still rides, and Gramp rides, 
jumps and celebrates. 



CHAPTER FOURTEEN 

THE BIOGRAPHERS 

ESTHER SUMMERSON, one of the love- 
liest of Charles Dicken's characters, after 
narrating in Bleak House in a most charm- 
ing way and at some length her own life 
events, begins another chapter by saying, "I am 
tired of writing of myself and I imagine those who 
may read what I have written are ready to say, dear! 
dear! you tiresome creature, can't you keep out! I 
wish you would. I hope anyone who may read what 
I write will understand, that if these pages con- 
tain a great deal about me, it must be because I have 
really something to do with them and can't be kept 
out." 

Like Esther, I am tired of writing of myself; and 
I am going to keep out; leaving to an already pub- 
lished biography what further has been said as to 
my business life, habits and tastes; for I said in the 
beginning of this journal that I would browse from 
all fields pick and quote from all authors who have 
said somewhere and sometime better than I can, the 



Page Two Hundred Twenty-Eight 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

things I want said here — So, as in "Who's Who," 
and in "Old and New St. Louis," and in "Repre- 
sentative Men of Chicago and St. Louis," and in 
"The Prose and Poetry of the Live Stock Business" 
they have been good enough to say things about me 
better than I can say them, vouching for the truth 
of the facts, and wholly disclaiming the undeserved 
eulogies expressed or implied, I from the last named 
beg to quote as follows: 

"The Colonel was born on a farm, and early 
learned the importance of being able to take care of 
himself. There are natures that bloom under trials, 
and the conditions in which he was thrown made it 
necessary for him to go with the tide or to take hold 
of the helm and guide the boat with his own hand. 
Fortunately, he decided to be the captain of his own 
salvation, and on the frontier of the Southwest, in 
the midst of the rudest surroundings, in the early cow- 
camp, on the trail, in the court-room, at the desk of 
the financier, and in the position of a man of large 
business affairs, he has placed his reliance upon a calm 
judgment that seldom fails its possessor and points 
in the right direction, provided it be rightly nutured 
and implicitly trusted. Judgment, after all, is one of 
the most important of the faculties, and he who has 
it becomes a prince among men. It is to good judg- 
ment that he owes his success." 

"During all his active life, he has been closely con- 
nected with the live-stock business, and he is known 



Page Two Hundred Twenty-Nine 

THE BIOGRAPHERS 

in the United States and Europe as one of the most 
prominent live-stock men of America. Banking and 
law have also occupied a large share of his attention, 
and in each of the three distinct branches he has at- 
tained a remarkable degree of success." 

"As a lawyer, first in general practice, and later in 
the conduct of cases for the corporations in which 
he has been interested, he has attained eminence. As 
a banker, too, in different cities and under different 
conditions of business, he has been equally successful; 
in fact, he has never been identified with an institution 
or business which v/as not successful; and as owner 
and operator of great cattle, horse and sheep ranches, 
the financial results have been uniformly gratifying. 
It is doubtful whether a similar record in these three 
different departments of business, each calling for 
special qualifications and training, has ever been 
attained by any other man of the West. 

"It may tnily be said that all human history is 
merely a succession of biographies. The plays upon 
the stage are acted biographies. The biographies of 
successful men are full of interest and instruction and 
convey an enthusiasm and infuse an energy which are 
found nowhere else in literature. As the world pro- 
gresses and intelligence becomes more manifest, the 
ideas and examples of the great men of business are 
more closely studied and their influence is more dis- 
tinctly felt. Who can estimate the effect upon the 
world of a successful life? If it is true, as some mod- 
ern thinkers claim, that every successful thought adds 



Page Two Hundred Thirty 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

to the impulse which is ultimately to make this globe 
an elysium, indeed, how important to the general wel- 
fare are the chronicles of these lives. It is safe to 
assume that every successful man makes a lasting Im- 
pression upon many whose characters are forming, 
and every person who habitually maintains an atti- 
tude of hopefulness and confidence, contributes to the 
upbuilding of the race, and is a benefactor to human- 
ity. It is seldom any man will exert himself unless 
impelled by the stern demands of necessity. As a 
brilliant writer said of Cervantes: "It is his poverty 
that makes the whole world rich." 

"His unpleasant introduction to Texas had no ill 
effects upon his mind. He soon learned to love the 
State and its people, identified himself permanently 
with its interests, and ever since has maintained a resi- 
dence there, and has never voted elsewhere in his life. 

"After the War, he located in a frontier town of 
one of the richest counties of the State. At the close 
of the Civil War, it was a frontier trading-post. Here 
the settlers over a wide region came for their supplies, 
and the outfitting establishments were prepared to 
furnish everything considered necessary for a cow- 
camp, hunting party, or new community. The almost 
untrodden area of West Texas was to be peopled; but 
first' it was necessary to get rid of the buffaloes and 
then the Indians. For years West Texas was ter- 
rorized by roving bands of Indians, and more than 
once the Colonel pursued the intruders or was pur- 
sued by them. Many times he drove over the road at 



Page Two Hundred Thirty-One 

THE BIOGRAPHERS 

night with his wife in order to avoid possible attack 
in the daytime. Settlers were obliged to be constantly 
on the alert, and yet hundreds of lives were lost on the 
Texas border. 

"There is a glamor of romance in the life of the 
frontiersman, and it was not uninviting to the Col- 
onel, as he is an ardent lover of Nature, and is hap- 
piest in the mountains or on the great plains." 

In one of his magazine articles, he said: "The 
solemn silence of the plains is awe-inspiring. Nowhere 
in all creation — the wide ocean not excepted — does 
man seem so insignificant. Nowhere is nature more 
a Bible. The summer days are long in these high al- 
titudes. The dawn comes clear and cool and early. 
The great sun rises big and round and warm. It is a 
warmth that is not unpleasant till nearly noonday; 
then the sun shines hot and for a time drives one to 
shade of wagon, tent or awning. By mid-afternoon 
it is delightfully pleasant again. Then comes the 
evening; the sun goes down with neither tree nor 
mountain to cast a shadow and break the twilight. 
Night follows with its stars and stillness." 

The Colonel began his business life as a school- 
teacher. While teaching school, he was concluding 
his study of law, and upon admission to the bar he 
began practice on the frontier of Texas. 

"The criminal law practice," said he, in reviewing 
his early experience at the bar, "was highly lucrative 
on the frontier, where men of wealth would often 



Page Two Hundred Thirty-Two 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

fall out and fight and kill. Human life was not held 
in great respect in the early frontier days." 

"The settlers of West Texas, at the close of the 
Civil War, were people of original character, and 
many of them were of striking individuality. This 
remark also applies to the lawyers of the frontier. In 
mental ability they compared favorably with their 
brethern anywhere. They were as a class strong men." 

Finally, the growth of the Colonel's business kept 
him much in Saint Louis, where a larger field pre- 
sented, and in 1881 he was made president of a cattle 
company, one of the largest of its kind in the world, 
with a capital stock of $3,000,000, and interests in 
Texas and Montana. For over thirty years, the Col- 
onel has been at the head of this company, whose op- 
erations have been upon a magnitude equalled by 
few livestock organizations of modern times. 
The company owns two ranches aggregating three 
hundred and fifty thousand acres, in the Panhandle 
of Texas, on the Red and Pease Rivers, from which 
hundreds of thousands of cattle have been supplied 
to the market. This land is now being divided into 
small tracts for settlers, and will be gradually dis- 
posed of to the mighty army of homeseekers, whose 
approach is transforming the cattle range into farms. 
The company owns a sheep ranch in Southwest Texas 
and for many years operated extensively a horse 
ranch in Montana. 

In 1898, the Colonel also acquired a residence in a 
Western city on account of the advantages of the ch- 



Page Two Hundred Thirty-Three 

THE BIOGRAPHERS 

mate of the mountains for his only child; and in 1902 
he organized a Trust Company there, which has 
grown into one of the most flourishing young financial 
institutions of the Rocky Mountain country. For 
years, notwithstanding his residence elsewhere, he has 
all the time maintained his home in the suburbs of 
one of the handsomest cities in the South. Here a 
suburban place of more than 400 acres is systemati- 
cally conducted, and the Colonel and his family en- 
deavor to spend the winter months amidst old friends 
and congenial surroundings. 

"His residence in the Western city is one of the 
finest in a city of magnificant residences, and contains 
one of the best libraries in the State where it is sit- 
uated. The great hall is decorated with battle-axes, 
blades, pikes, and war-clubs gathered from all parts 
of the world." 

"He is a Unitarian, so far as his religious views are 
concerned, and the only pictures that adorn the walls 
of his library are those of Darwin, Spencer, Tyndall, 
and Huxley, the study of whose works has been to him 
a constant delight." 

"A private summer home of 4,000 acres, owned 
by him, In the foothills of the mountains, is not sur- 
passed In beauty by any other mountain home. Here 
the Colonel entertains his friends upon a scale com- 
mensurate with his large resources. At all of his 
ranches and establishments he maintains horses and 
riding and driving outfits adequate for large house 
parties." 



Page Two Hundred Thirty-Four 
THE JOURNAL OP A GRANDFATHER 

"The Colonel is a lover of fine horses and fine dogs, 
and few men in America take greater interest in these 
animals or have owned a larger number of them. 
Coaching, the horse, and the dog are his diversions; 
and such is his kindness to all domestic animals that 
they respond instinctively, and a complete sympathy 
exists between him and even his most nen^ous and 
spirited horses. The thoroughbred and the Olden- 
burg coach horses are his favorite breeds, and it is 
doubtful whether any man understands and appre- 
ciates the horse better than he." 

"As a coach and four-in-hand driver, he is match- 
less, and as such he has carried off prizes at a num- 
ber of the great horse shows of America. He is a 
thorough admirer and breeder of pointer dogs, and 
enjoys nothing more than a day's wing-shooting over 
them. He travels thousands of miles driving and rid- 
ing across country for pleasure, following the chase 
or upon hunting or fishing expeditions. His skill as 
a wing-shot has brought him a number of trophies and 
his love of nature is so great that when the fever 
seizes him, he closes his desk and is up and away 
across country, driving a spirited team or with dog, 
horse, and gun seeking health and recreation far from 
the perplexity and strife of professional or commer- 
cial life." 

"In his long trips overland, he rides in a hunting 
coach, made through special order by one of the great 
overland coachmakers. He carries provisions, tents, 
saddles, guns, dogs — in fact, everything necessary for 



Page Two Hundred Thirty-Five 

THE BIOGRAPHERS 

camp or outdoor sport — and on these trips he never 
stops at a house or a hotel. One of his summer coach 
excursions extended from the Gulf of Mexico to Mon- 
tana, through the cattle country of the great plains. 
An illustrated article entitled, 'Through Cowboy 
Land in a Wagon,' which he contributed to one of the 
magazines, indicates that had he turned his attention 
to writing for the entertainment of a wide and grow- 
ing class of readers who appreciate the beauties and 
teachings of nature, he would have gained a perma- 
nent place in literature. During his coaching and 
hunting trips, he invariably occupies the box and 
drives regardless of weather." 

"It is his nature to go from one extreme to the 
other, and when he leaves his office he leaves every 
business care behind him and enters into the spirit of 
play with all the zest of a youth of fifteen. Owing to 
his ability to enter so fully into the simple and natural 
pleasures of life, he enjoys a fullness of health known 
to few men. His capacity for mental application is 
the marvel of his friends, and gives him an advan- 
tage as a lawyer, as he is thus enabled to go well to 
the bottom of every subject. He never enters the 
court room until he has made complete preparation, 
and when he has concluded his address (to the court 
or jury) there is little of real importance left un- 
touched or unsaid. 

"In criminal, commercial, or land practice, he has 
been equally successful. One of his recent victories 
was in 1903, when he gained a case involving title to 



Page Two Hundred Thirty-Six 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

50,000 acres of land from the State of Texas, claimed 
originally by squatters, and doggedly contested in the 
Federal courts, finally winding up in the Supreme 
Court of Texas, with the State as the party plaintiff, 
where the positions of the Colonel were fully sus- 
tained. It has been his custom in all his business 
career to manage his own legal cases and those of his 
corporations, as he found it easier to do this than to 
acquaint other attorneys with the facts as he knew 
them, to say nothing of the law." 

"As a public speaker, he is clear, logical, forcible, 
convincing, and he always talks to the point. He has 
no patience with subterfuges or evasions, either in the 
court-room or in business, and is a staunch believer 
that the only real victory is the one gained through 
straightforwardness and honest methods. 

"As a soldier, he was recognized by those who 
fought with him as one of the boldest and most dash- 
ing fighters of the Confederacy, and this characteristic 
has never departed from him. Lawyers who have 
been pitted against him in great cases will recognize 
the truth of this assertion." 

"To enter fully into the opinions, the actions, the 
life-career of a man possessing the marked individ- 
uality and varied abilities of the Colonel would re- 
quire a volume. His range of vision covers all the 
period of the development of the live-stock business, 
and in this development he has been a leading factor. 
His first partner was one of the largest and best 
known men in the country, in the cattle business. One 



Page Two Hundred Thirty-Seven 

THE BIOGRAPHERS 

morning, in West Texas the partners awoke to find 
that the Indians had stolen their horses, and they were 
obhged to walk seventy-five miles to get a little team 
of mules to draw the coach in which they had been 
traveling. On another occasion, in company with the 
same partner, riding jaded horses, on the plains near 
the head of the Colorado, the eye of the Colonel noted 
objects moving in the distance. In a short time the 
objects drew near, and proved to be a large party of 
Indians, homeward bound from a horse stealing expe- 
dition among the settlements. It was a critical 
moment when the Indians discovered the lonely white 
men, and the savages halted and discussed the situa- 
tion. To attack and kill the two men would have been 
the work of but a few minutes, and there could have 
been only one result had the charge been made. But, 
to the inexpressible relief of the Colonel and his com- 
panions, the enemy withdrew in haste. The Indians 
had concluded that a large party of frontiersmen was 
near and that they would be led into an ambuscade if 
the two supposed scouts were attacked." 

"The Colonel was engaged in some large land 
deals. He at one time came within fifty cents an acre 
of buying the entire Adair Ranch of Texas, and later 
he declined a liberal offer made by J. J. Farwell, of 
half the Capitol Syndicate Ranch of 3,000,000 acres, 
the offer being made with the proviso that the Colonel 
should assist in building the capitol of Texas. He 
gained a correct impression of the value of land in the 
plains region, and large areas which he bought for 



Page Two Hundred Thirty-Eight 
THE JOURNAL OF A GRANDFATHER 

fifty cents an acre are now in the market at $5 to $7 
an acre." 

"In 1868 the Colonel married into an old Alabama 
family. One child brightened the household." 

"The Colonel has passed through the extraordi- 
nary changes from the buffalo camp to the crowded 
metropolis; his theater has extended from the Gulf of 
Mexico to Montana, and he has been personally 
acquainted with most of the noted and picturesque 
characters of the South and West during the great 
formative period. He has traveled extensively in the 
United States and Europe, notwithstanding his busi- 
ness responsibilities, at all times exercising an energy 
and an independence and a self-reliance that were in- 
herent in him even as a boy. Always a close observer 
of men, an omnivorous reader, and a student so faith- 
ful that he carried his law books in the limber of his 
cannon during the war, he has gained a mass of in- 
formation that has been to him a constant solace and 
refreshment. His knowledge, however, has not all 
come from books. An observant writer has remarked: 
'Intelligent men of business are the most sensible men 
in the world,' and any person who goes about with 
his eyes and ears open will learn that there is a wis- 
dom born in some men that transcends the learning 
of the schools. Through the harmonious blending 
of important elements is produced the individual who 
directs the affairs of the remarkable twentieth cen- 
tury." 

"The world requires that a man shall be a master 



Page Two Hundred Thirty-Nine 

THE BIOGRAPHERS 

in what he undertakes, and In the great race common- 
sense always has right of way. The Colonel came 
out of the army a different man from what he was at 
the beginning. His eyes were opened; he had seen 
enough bloodshed for one lifetime; and his most wel- 
come vision Is the dawning of a day In the history of 
the world when a parliament of nations shall settle 
all great disputes that have heretofore disturbed man- 
kind, and the vast armies and navies shall be turned 
to nobler purpose. The Colonel emerged from the 
war a persistent advocate of a peace congress; and 
such Is his disinclination to fight his battles over again, 
it is said he never alludes to them." 




JUL 13 1912 



